Wyze Lies
by Erestor
Summary: Sequel to AtM. Erestor has uncovered a vast conspiracy, or thinks he has. Relentlessly pursued by those who want to silence him, his only hope is to undermine Glorfindel's credibility once and for all. Also features Legolas and Arwen. COMPLETE.
1. Protagonist

**Wyze Lies**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings_. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

**Author's Note: **This fanfic will complete the 'Balrog Conspiracy' Trilogy. If you have not read _The Great Balrog Conspiracy _and _Among the Mumakil _already, _Wyze Lies _will not make much sense, if any.

I can't promise regular updates, but they shouldn't be too far apart timewise. It depends on how often I can get to a computer.

**Warning: **This is totally AU.

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I am Erestor, the famous author and conspiracy theorist, and I never imagined that my life would turn out this way. Do not think I am being modest when I say this. No one else imagined it either, because I was an Elf that no one really noticed. Once upon a time, I was practically invisible, and happy to be that way. 

Of course, once upon a time, I was also naïve, clueless, and pathetic. I managed to keep my stupidity hidden for a while, until the 348th Annual Wings Debate, when I rashly declared to the world my belief that Balrogs do not exist.

Have you heard of the Annual Wings Debate? I am sure you have. It is the most depressing event of the year. On that day, Elves from all over Middle-earth gather in Imladris to 'discuss' the so-called Eternal Question: Do Balrogs have wings or not? These debates tend to become vicious and violent, so I was lucky to get away from several hundred enraged scholars with all my limbs and bones intact. They hated the thought that Balrogs might actually not exist. It would have meant that hundreds of years of arguing had been a pointless waste of time.

I wrote a book (_Wings: The Great Balrog Conspiracy_) in which I accused a group of Elves known as 'the Wyze' of concealing the truth from the general public for years. After all, one of the Wyze was Glorfindel the Balrog-slayer, who could have answered the Eternal Question if he had been so inclined – and if he had actually encountered a Balrog, which he hadn't, because there are no such things as Balrogs.

This accusation made Glorfindel annoyed. Silly me, to not have realized ahead of time that Glorfindel would be annoyed. When Glorfindel gets annoyed with people, he threatens them, drugs them, burns their books, makes them miserable, and eventually sends assassins after them. I know this from personal experience, though I wish I didn't.

I fled to Far Harad. I wrote another book (_Among the Mûmakil: The Adventures of an Elven Fugitive Living in Far Harad)_. In this book, I restated my belief in the nonexistence of Balrogs, as well as attacked the Wyze for holding their fellow Elves in ignorance. Glorfindel was even more annoyed. He abducted me, tried to hypnotize me, and, when that failed, tried to smother me with a pillow.

He could have killed me, but he let me go. I still cannot understand why.

I went to Eryn Lasgalen, where I had been writing a book on alien abduction with the help of Prince Legolas. I apologized to him, because I would not be able to finish the book. Glorfindel had unintentionally given me some of the answers to my questions. I knew that I had to write one more book for my series.

I went to Minas Tirith, hoping I would be safe there. King Elessar couldn't afford to let an Elf get murdered on his doorstep. It would be very bad PR.

While I was compiling information for my own volume, Glorfindel made it known that he too was writing a book. Its title was _Paranoia and Confusion: An Analytical Look at Erestor and his Works of Fiction, _which may give you some insight into its contents. Even before it was published, it was practically a bestseller. Glorfindel is interviewed constantly, being such a wonderful, likable person, and he made sure to mention his book as often as he could.

Whenever Glorfindel was interviewed on television, I forced myself to watch. I knew that Glorfindel and I would meet again, and I wanted to be ready for the inevitable confrontation. I wished that Glorfindel had not taken it upon himself to be one of the Wyze; he should have been an actor, and won a multitude of awards for his work. The bright, bubbly, innocent Glorfindel most know and love is very different from the deadly, conniving Glorfindel I have learned to fear.

"You have your enemies," the interviewer told Glorfindel once. (She sounded shocked, as if Glorfindel had had nothing to do with _making _said enemies. I'm sure that if the rest of Glorfindel's enemies are like me, they feel lucky to be alive.) "Erestor, for example, constantly attacks you in his books," she continued. (At least I attacked Glorfindel in a book. Glorfindel tended to attack me in person.) "How do you feel about that?" she asked.

Glorfindel got an expression on his face that was partly hurt and partly amused, like that of a kicked puppy planning revenge. He shrugged. "I can't expect everyone to like me," he said simply. "Yes, it bothers me when people lie about my character, but I know that others will always think the best of me." He flashed the camera a perfect smile.

I was drinking tea when I watched that particular interview, and at Glorfindel's sweet little comment, I snorted so incredulously that I nearly inhaled the tea up my nose.

Somehow Glorfindel wrote hisbook in between interviews, and somehow I wrote my own book in between watching said interviews. I did not have the time to worry about gaining publicity, and anyway, I knew that the sight of myself simpering into a camera would send people running for their therapists, not running to camp outside bookstores, waiting for my book to come out. That was what Glorfindel's fans were doing, except obviously they were waiting for Glorfindel's book to come out, not mine.

My book (_Wyze Lies: The Necessary Myth of the Balrog-Slayers_) was to be released into the wild –to the public, I mean– on the same day as Glorfindel's book. Incidentally, this day was the same day as the 350th Annual Wings Debate. We were both being clever. I was trying to ruin the Annual Wings Debate, and Glorfindel was trying to counterbalance my efforts. I wanted everyone to be reading _Wyze Lies _instead of debating, and Glorfindel had decided that if people were going to be reading instead of debating, then they should be reading his book, not mine.

Now that Sauron has been defeated, a book war between two Elves was the most exciting thing happening in Middle-earth, so it was getting plenty of media coverage. Too much, in my opinion. It made me ill. I couldn't go anywhere without seeing at least a dozen posters of Glorfindel plastered over every available wall, bulletin board, and parked car.

There were posters of me, of course. They were worse. I cringed every time I saw them, which fortunately was not often. I began to wonder if people were lurking everywhere, waiting for me to do something outrageous so that they could obtain photographic proof of my insanity.

The sad truth is this: I look too ordinary to be insane. I'm not an exceptionally beautiful Elf like Legolas, Elrond, or Glorfindel, and I have black hair and grey eyes like most of the Noldor. I have managed to maintain the tan I obtained in Far Harad, however, which makes me stand out to some extent. But I do not stand out enough to be considered insane.

Anyway, if people start believing I am crazy, they will have to believe _all_ the Noldor are more or less demented, because we bear a rather scary resemblance to each other, and we tend to subconsciously mimic each other in our mannerisms and speech.

I am well aware that some people already believe the Noldor are demented, and, to be honest, I am tempted to agree with them. However, I do not plan on expanding my un-fanbase at the moment, so I'm going to keep quiet on that count. I can handle only so many death threats at a time.

This is all a digression. Though others speculated about my mental health, I was more worried about other, slightly more important things, like the possible termination of my life. I am naturally a paranoid Elf. I was paranoid before everyone was out to get me, which gave me practice for the real thing. I knew what to do in the event of an emergency/attempted assassination. I spent a lot of my nights in my closet, with a makeshift decoy on my bed, hoping that any assassins sent to kill me would be of the More Brawn Than Brains variety.

There were no assassins. For a while, I was certain that someone out there was trying to lull me into a false sense of security. Then I began to wonder if the someone out there had decided I was insignificant, not even worth killing. Being sleep-deprived and illogical, I was almost disappointed, almost hurt.

I do not know how many writers have nearly stopped writing because they felt a lack of assassins was a _bad _thing. I was so used to being threatened and abducted and almost killed that this sudden, surprising lack of feedback disheartened me. I reminded myself that it was better for my feelings to be hurt than for myself to be dead, but I remained somewhat unpersuaded. Probably this effect was what Glorfindel intended, or perhaps he was busily writing his book and hadn't had the time to hire some decent killers to get the job done.

I always wonder if I give Glorfindel too much credit. Maybe he seems scarier and more evil than he actually is. Can I honestly blame every paranoid thought that has crossed my mind on some cunning plan of his? How could Glorfindel have predicated that I was going to hide in a closet every night, and then feel devastated when no one came to smother me in my sleep? He couldn't have known that. There's no way. Glorfindel, thank the Valar, is not omniscient.

However, I would not be surprised if Glorfindel had managed to hide small video cameras in my room. I was probably under constant surveillance those days. I probably kept Glorfindel very amused, and provided him with plenty of material for his book about how pathetic and confused and paranoid I am.

I dreaded the publication of Glorfindel's book. I imagined a thousand and one scenarios in which it destroyed my career, bolstered my career, and hurt or helped me in every way conceivable. My favorite daydream was the one in which the book was so ridiculous that Glorfindel became a laughingstock overnight and my own views at once appeared more reasonable to the public eye. I knew this was a foolish hope of mine, but I fostered it anyway.

This particular chapter in my life begins with my surprise encounter with a fan.

_All_ my encounters with fans came as a surprise. I knew in theory some people did not think I was completely off my rocker, but I was always startled to meet such people. Also, my fans had an unnerving way of jumping out at me and begging me to support their causes.

This particular fan was called Beregond.

As was the peculiar habit of those who agreed with my theories, Beregond introduced himself to me by lunging at me from where he had been lurking behind an automobile. He grabbed my arm and yanked me into a dark alley.

I thought I was about to be brutally murdered, and immediately acted on this assumption. Unfortunately for Beregond, I had been taking self-defense classes for some time.

"Mercy, mercy!" wheezed Beregond after a few lively moments. "I'm a fan of your books! Don't hurt me!"

"Oh," I gasped, letting go of his arm, which I had skillfully managed to twist behind his back. "I'm so sorry. I thought I was being attacked."

My assailant rubbed his injured appendage ruefully. "I'm Beregond," he said. "I've read all your books."

"I've only written two," I said.

"But I've read all of them," Beregond replied. "They are wonderful! They shed such light on the machinations of those in authority! Thanks to you, I've become an anarchist!"

"An anarchist?" I echoed, stunned.

Beregond nodded. I think he expected me to congratulate him.

"You don't... _look_ like an anarchist," I said cautiously. I had always thought of anarchists as appearing rather scruffy and disreputable.

"You don't look like a conspiracy theorist," retorted Beregond. "I am flouting social conventions by being an anarchist who looks exactly like everyone else. I thought you were doing the same."

I liked his explanation. It made me feel good to realize I could be flouting social conventions by appearing to follow them. If I had been slightly more wild-eyed and fanatical-looking, I would have been doing what everyone expected of me. By looking like all the other Noldor, I was making an important statement.

"Yes, I suppose I'm doing the same thing," I said. "Did you want to speak with me?"

Beregond nodded. He thrust a copy of _Among the Mûmakil _at me. "Would you autograph this, please?" he asked politely.

"Certainly," I replied. "Do you have pen and ink?"

Beregond did. He had come prepared, and fortunately I had not broken his ink bottle while defending myself from his attack. Beregond held the ink bottle for me, and I signed the book for him.

"Now," said Beregond, "to business." He began looking around nervously, and at last he leaned close to me and hoarsely whispered, "Tread carefully, Erestor. King Elessar plans to join the ranks of the Wyze."

"What?" I cried.

"It is true," whispered Beregond. "His foster father, the Elf-lord of Rivendell, extended the invitation to him last week. The King will take part in an ancient initiation ritual, and then he too will actively engage in stamping out you and all your writings."

"He has not done anything to me yet," I said, "and I'm right before his eyes. He knows I live in Minas Tirith."

"His apathy towards you will soon end," said Beregond. "It _must_ end. The Wyze would not let him become one of them if he did not subscribe to their beliefs and causes."

I knew this was true.

"I wanted to warn you," said Beregond. "It's all I can do. I won't be able to overthrow the government before the king becomes one of Them."

Beregond slipped away silently. I noticed he had acquired a limp, and felt bad for stomping on his foot, even if it had been an act of self-defense.

I stepped out of the dark alley, and somewhere in the crowded street, someone made an incoherent roaring noise. Someone screamed. (I've noticed that someone alwaysscreams.) The crowd parted rapidly. A small, fuzzy object came barreling towards me, swinging an axe.

"_Libelous wretch!_" bellowed the Dwarf.

Minas Tirith has a lot of trees growing along the side of its streets. A result of the Elven influence, I think. They provide shade in the summer, leaves in the autumn, striking subjects for photography in the winter, and a refuge for desperate Elves in times of adversity.

I don't think I ever climbed a tree as fast as I did then. I practically flew up it.

"Come down!" yelled the Dwarf.

"Not likely!" I said.

"Not so brave now, eh?" asked the Dwarf. "Not so brave now that you don't have a book to hide behind!"

I hoped that if he were making a point, it would be merely a verbal one. Accusations of cowardice did not offend me. It seemed only fair. I _was_ up a tree, after all.

While I didn't mind being accused of cowardice, I didmind being hacked to pieces by a demented Dwarf.

"Gimli! Don't!" cried Legolas, rushing towards the small, hairy creature that was, for some reason, a good friend of his.

The crowd demonstrated its twisted priorities at that moment by turning their backs on my dire predicament, and charging at Legolas, begging him for an autograph, a scrap of his clothing, or some other token of his esteem. From my lofty perch, I watched as my only hope of rescue was swallowed by the mob.

The tree shook.

Dwarves, you must understand, _can _climb trees.

The tree shook again.

The thing is, they don't _like _to climb trees, especially when they have an axe in hand.

The tree shook again.

"May I ask why you are doing this?" I asked, clinging to a branch and trying to keep my composure. My teeth rattled in my head with each blow.

Gimli paused. "All right," he said, lowering his axe. "I suppose you deserve to know."

I nodded. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Legolas going under for the third time. Evidently not much help would be coming from that particular front.

"You implied that the Lady Galadriel is involved in a vast conspiracy!" said Gimli. "You implied that she is conniving and treacherous!"

"Oh," thought I. Then, as I saw an Elf stroll down the street towards my tree, the crowd parting in front of him and his followers in tow, my thoughts became even more negative. In fact, at that moment, I couldn't think of a way my situation could become worse.

"Master Dwarf," Glorfindel said enthusiastically, "I'm delighted to see you! Lady Galadriel sends you her greetings."

Thus he endeared himself to Gimli.

Glorfindel reached the tree and peered up it, a very fake (but nearly convincing) expression of curiosity on his face. I looked down, feeling ill. I had imagined our meeting, but I had not dreamed it would be like this, not even in my frequent nightmares.

"Well, well, well," said my nemesis, looking up at me and smirking. "What have we here?"

"That's Erestor," said Gimli helpfully, standing at his elbow, "the one who wrote Those Books."

To my horror, Glorfindel's smirk widened. "Is it really?" he murmured, and his sycophants sniggered and elbowed each other.

I tried to make the best of the situation, but it was difficult. I did not want to climb down the tree, in case Gimli attacked me again. However, remaining in the tree was becoming more and more unpleasant, and I was beginning to feel somewhat mortified.

Fortunately, Legolas was distracting most of crowd. It could have been worse. I could have had half the population of Gondor standing under my tree gaping at me.

"I would love to speak with you," said Glorfindel. "I suppose you aren't going to come down?"

I shook my head.

"Well, then, I'll come up," said Glorfindel, and before I could attempt to dissuade him, he bounded gracefully up the tree, swift and spry as a squirrel.

"Do you really want to be photographed in a tree with me?" I asked, nodding in the direction of the excited tourists, who, armed with the cameras on their mobile phones, were pushing through the group of Glorfindel's adherents.

"I don't mind," said Glorfindel. He sat on the branch beside me, somehow managing to look comfortable and relaxed, while I gingerly edged away from him. The branch dipped slightly. "Some of my supporters believe that you would try to stab me in the back if you could, and I am sure some of your supporters think I would attempt to murder you in the same way, so it is best that we converse in plain view of both groups."

"I dislike stabbing people," I replied. "I much prefer pushing my enemies out of trees."

Glorfindel just laughed.

"It's quite a long drop," I told him.

"For me, a long drop has never been a cause for worry," said Glorfindel.

"So," I asked, "what did you want to tell me?"

"Only that I'm looking forward to the day of the 350th Annual Wings Debate," said Glorfindel. "Looking forward to it _greatly_."

"So am I," I said. "Only a week to wait now."

"Very good." Glorfindel nodded approvingly. "You used to be such a spineless Elf, but you have become a more worthy opponent every year. I will enjoy reading your book."

"And I will enjoy reading yours," I shot back. "I look forward to seeing what lies you have invented about me."

"Better lies than the ones you invented about _me_," snapped Glorfindel.

"Oh, I don't know about that," I said. "The truth can be painful."

"Perhaps," said Glorfindel, before adding reflectively, "We never thought you would make such an impact. You have emerged from the very depths of obscurity and are now completely infamous. You must be so proud."

I don't know how Glorfindel manages to make me feel so inferior, but he does manage it, on a regular basis and with insulting ease.

"And now you have reached the very pinnacle of fame, the zenith of your career. Marvelous. I'm happy for you. ...But you know what they say." Glorfindel offered me a lazy smile, leaned close, and whispered into my ear, _"Hasty climbers have sudden falls._"

Before I could form any coherent reply, Glorfindel leapt from the tree, landing easily on both feet, crouching, with one hand touching the ground for balance. He stood gracefully, brushing his yellow hair away from his face and smiling at the astonishment of his followers.

I was equally astonished. I gaped down at him, unable to believe what I had just witnessed. Glorfindel had not looked to see if there was anyone underneath the tree. He had assumed that everyone would get out of his way, and they had. Such an action communicated volumes about his personality.

"As I said," Glorfindel said gently, "_I _have never had to worry about long drops." He was quiet for a moment, looking at the ground. I couldn't see his expression, but I knew he was smirking. At last, having regained control of his features, he glanced up at me, expression innocent.

"I haven't had to worry," he said, " but perhaps _you_ should."

**TBC...**


	2. Antagonist

**Wyze Lies**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings. _This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for reviewing! I really appreciate everything you have to say about this fic.

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**Glorfindel.**

When I came to Minas Tirith to promote the book I had written in Imladris, I was quick to locate Erestor.

I was not so quick to corner him. I bided my time. I did not have to appear on Erestor's doorstep immediately. If I waited, I could allow his suspense to increase. I could strike at the perfect moment, when my presence would make the greatest impact upon him and his morale.

When I went on a walk that particular afternoon, I realized my patience had paid off magnificently. In fact, I could not believe my luck. How often did Erestor feel the need to climb a tree in such a public place? He was cornered, helpless, uncomfortable, worried... it was wonderful.

After a brief chat with him, followed by an impressive demonstration of my landing capabilities, I was very pleased with myself. I had, at the very least, increased Erestor's sense of foreboding somewhat, judging by the way he had gone pale underneath his annoying tan.

Thanks to Erestor, I have discovered that as much as I enjoy being lovable and endearing, I also enjoy intimidating people. I fail to see the point of causing everyone to think I am harmless, when I can derive so much pleasure from letting a select few see that I am dangerous. I have so much fun watching them vainly attempt to persuade others that I am evil.

Having leaped from the tree, I met Legolas underneath it. His clothes were torn to pieces, his hair was a mess, and a large bruise already darkened his eye. This, I thought in amusement, would surely lead to rumors that he had been waylaid and clobbered by some of the Gondorian Elf-haters, when nearly the opposite was true.

I gave him a perfunctory bow, before looking him up and down critically. "Too much love will kill you, Legolas," I told him. "I wonder that you dare come out in public."

"I'll be more careful next time," said Legolas miserably, slumping against the tree.

"Be careful_ now_," I said. "If you shake that tree too hard, Elves might start falling out of it, and, with your luck, they'd probably all land on your head."

"Oh," said Legolas. "Is Erestor up there?"

"I believe so," I said, "though he may have flown away since I last saw him."

Legolas looked. "No, he's still there. Doesn't look happy."

"He rarely does."

"He is happy when you are not present, Lord Glorfindel."

While Legolas's statement was no doubt true, I did not bother to respond to it. "He was attacked by your Dwarven friend," I said.

"Erestor's books about the Wyze upset Gimli. He feels that he must defend Galadriel's honor. I tried to dissuade him, but" –Legolas sighed– "it did not work. I did not realize that Gimli would attempt to kill Erestor in such a public place."

I sighed as well. Gimli had scared Erestor far more than I ever had. If Erestor had seen me coming down the street, would he have scrambled up a tree? I doubt it. He would have tried to look brave. Not that I would have been fooled by such a facade, but I do miss the days when he flinched at the sight of me.

Of course, I have never chased Erestor with an axe.

"Legolas," I said thoughtfully.

"Yes?"

"The Wyze do not expect much from woodland Elves," I said, "but we do expect some cooperation on your part. We expect you to support us to the best of your ability. Instead, you have been willfully undermining many of our efforts."

"Yes," said Legolas softly. "Yes, I have."

I glanced around. My supporters were gathered close –far too close– and listening to our conversation intently. At my look, they backed away a few paces. I did not want Legolas to think I relied on my minions to be intimidating.

"I am sure Erestor has told you that I do not make threats idly," I said.

"He told me you attacked him with a pillow," said Legolas, smiling slightly. He knew he was surrounded, but did not seem worried. He was probably used to be surrounded.

"Erestor is a scholar," I said. "You are a warrior."

Legolas arched his eyebrows. "That does make a difference, doesn't it?" he said. "I think you'll find me harder to subdue, should I make trouble." He smiled again. "Not that Erestor has been easily subdued, or, in fact, subdued at all."

"Not yet," I said. "I'm allowing him a few more days of happiness, before he is crushed forever."

"How kind you are."

"You don't want to be crushed as well, do you?" I asked, employing my most persuasive tone of voice. "In a week, my book will be published. In a week, King Elessar will become one of the Wyze. In a week, the span of Erestor's life will depend greatly on how gracefully he can publically recant every one of his theories."

There was a glimmer of doubt in Legolas's eyes, but his expression did not change. He shrugged. "Do not think you can frighten me," he said. "I have faced far greater odds."

"Those were clear, obvious odds," I said. "Yes, you and your friends triumphed against Sauron, but how do you plan on triumphing over your friends? What will you do with King Elessar as your enemy?"

"Lord Glorfindel," said Legolas, "I told Erestor there is no such thing as Balrogs."

"I know."

"I will defend that statement, no matter who attacks it. Aragorn and I are friends, but I will not compromise the truth for him, or out of fear of him."

"The truth?" I asked, eyebrows raised.

"The truth," said Legolas firmly.

"Well said, Legolas." I grinned at him, a quick, friendly grin that took him completely by surprise. "It must pain you to watch your good friend go over to the side of the enemy, but you must always have known such a step was inevitable. Raised in Rivendell, Aragorn was surrounded by the Wyze for many of the formative years of his life. He supports us wholeheartedly. For us, he will compromise _anything_."

Legolas looked me for a moment, and I could not tell what he was thinking. At last he said, "You are dangerous, Lord Glorfindel, but you are not invulnerable. Erestor may be a scholar, but he is dangerous too, and I will do everything in my power to aid him."

"Good," I said. "I find challenges invigorating."

Legolas, somehow imposing even with a black eye, managed with a look to make my supporters back away from him.

I watched as Legolas walked briskly down the street, Gimli scuttling behind him.

I had felt worried for some time. Watching Legolas recede into the distance, I merely felt sick. I had a terrible, miserable feeling that my control was weakening, that my power was slipping through my fingers, that the lies and threats and commands I had woven together were unraveling rapidly. Erestor had many friends, though he did not seem to realize it. I had supporters, but I knew better than to believe they would stay with me if I were ever in trouble. They would run. If they remained, it would only be to laugh at my misfortune.

Repressing the urge to shout infantile insults after Legolas's retreating form, I smiled at my merry band and announced, "I am sorry, but I must leave you all for a time."

They looked sad. It's nice to be missed.

I walked to King Elessar's house, which is a very large palace in the center of Minas Tirith. It is the paragon of sophistication, and I want it. Rivendell is really quite rustic in comparison.

The guards at the palace know me well, and let me through. Since I had come to the capital city of Gondor, I had been spending several hours with Aragorn each day, explaining everything about the Wyze he needed to know. I was a familiar face there.

Aragorn greeted me warmly. Each day he grew more excited about joining the Wyze. The benefits of such a step are great. King Elessar's union with our group would strengthen his rule, and ours. I told him this again and again.

After a fascinating discussion of several important issues, I sat back and drank ginger tea, and Aragorn poured over the contents of my briefcase. I had brought him some documents to examine, and he did so with great concentration.

Eventually he resurfaced to ask, "Who is the leader of the Wyze?"

I chuckled. "Anyone can be a leader of the Wyze, Aragorn. The majority rules. The most powerful individual can control the others, more or less. It makes everything much more exciting."

"Who is the most powerful?"

"At the moment, I am," I said. "But Celeborn and Galadriel grow stronger each day. People tend to overlook Celeborn while waiting for Galadriel to do something dramatic, but both work together. They have different strengths, and united they are more powerful than most of us. They are well aware of this."

"What about Gandalf?"

"He works from Valinor these days, and has been slipping a bit," I explained. "He is distracted with other matters." Flirting with Nienna, for one thing.

"Lord Elrond?"

"Has never been very powerful." Lord Elrond was my pet peeve. He never took a strong stance on any issue. I had tried to get him to support me, but he did not seem to grasp the importance of doing so. If we had made any real alliance, my power would have been secure for centuries. As it was, I had to scramble to stay on top.

"And my wife?" asked Aragorn. He laid down the papers and looked at me seriously.

"Lady Arwen –Queen Arwen, I mean– is an interesting case," I said. "She has always been career oriented, and the thought of joining the Wyze did not seem to fill her with much excitement. She eventually agreed to become one of us, but asked that her membership remain a secret. She didn't want it to interfere in her work, since some people are wary of hiring members of the Wyze."

Aragorn nodded.

"So we kept her membership a secret. Few people know she is one of us. Fortunately, we were able to use her reluctance to aid our cause. She works as a double agent of sorts, gathering information no one would dare tell one of the Wyze."

"Clever," murmured Aragorn. "Still, she is not very powerful?"

"She could be powerful if she bothered," I said, and shrugged. "Some people think of the Wyze as a society club, and others think of it as their life's work. Arwen is one of the former, I fear."

Aragorn smiled, reassured. "That explains why she never objected to my joining."

I kept the confidential information to myself. Arwen was more powerful than I let on. Yes, her business was important to her, but her spy work had been invaluable to us. She had agreed to keep an eye on her husband for me. I wasn't about to tell him that.

"What about Elladan and Elrohir?" asked Aragorn.

"Your brothers-in-law?" I asked. "They decided the Wyze are 'evil' and denounced us publically years ago. We watch them, but they haven't tried to sabotage our work." Elladan and Elrohir were perhaps the only two Elves who worried me. I respected them, but I never knew what they would do next.

"Frodo?"

"Honorary member. He doesn't know anything. We gave him a medal, sent him to Valinor, and let him get on with his life."

"King Thranduil?"

I snorted. "He isn't one of the Wyze, and he doesn't want to be. He'd love to see us all die horribly. I believe his son feels the same way."

"Saruman?"

"After he tried to take over Middle-earth, we took him off the membership list."

"How did you do that?"

"We voted."

"I see," said Aragorn. "Tom Bombadil?"

"He and his wife come around now and then, cut a few ribbons, make a few speeches, throw a few lilies about." Sing a few epic ballads. Drive a few people crazy. "They are part of the Wyze, but since they tend to be almost completely clueless, we don't really worry about them."

"I see," said Aragorn again, shuffling papers.

"I think you have a pressing question," I said, sipping my tea.

I was right, of course. Aragorn scratched his head, and asked, "What is the Wyze's policy about Erestor?"

"We have different policies," I said. "Most are willing to sit back and let him do his worst. I, however, have dedicated myself to the pursuit of him. We can't trust that Elf. He's doing everything in his power to hurt us."

"What do you want me to do about him?" asked Aragorn. "He has been living in Minas Tirith for some time."

I nodded. "When you become Wyze, that will change, won't it?"

"I suppose so," said Aragorn.

I had been hoping for some more fervor and commitment on his part. I leaned forward. "Aragorn, Erestor may seem like an insignificant annoyance, but he's dangerous. If we let him get away with these little things, he'll soon be trying to overthrow the government."

"The government?"

"Yours, Elrond's, Éomer's, Celeborn's. Any government he can sink his teeth into."

Aragorn began to look a little worried, as well he should.

"You need to help me," I said. "Together, we can remove this threat."

"Yes," said Aragorn.

I left the palace with a spring in my step. Aragorn was on my side. Erestor was doomed. My book was sure to be a best-seller. Could things be any better?

"Glorfindel," said two voices together, and I turned around, my high spirits plunging.

"Hello, Elladan, Elrohir," I said, giving them both a nod.

"Done corrupting our little brother?" asked Elrohir.

"Not yet," I said.

With Aragorn becoming one of the Wyze, Elladan and Elrohir's dislike of me had obviously increased. The brothers glared at me, but I did not lose my head.

"Would you like to eat dinner with me?" I asked mildly.

Elrohir looked as though he were about to say 'never!' and storm off, but Elladan said, "We would love to eat with you, Glorfindel," and smiled widely.

Ten minutes later, we sat in a very elegant restaurant, perusing menus. Gondorians are very fond of salad. It's a result of the Elvish influence, I think. Fortunately, I am very fond of salad as well, so I ordered some.

We sat eating our salads, and not really talking about anything. Eventually Elladan asked, "How did you persuade Estel to come over to your side?"

"Yes, we're very curious," said Elrohir, picking all the croutons out of the foliage on his plate.

"He saw the light," I said, "when I sent him an invitation. He realizes his rule would be much stronger if he had powerful allies."

Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other, resigned.

"Glorfindel," said Elladan, "we've seen advertisements for your book."

"And?"

"We can't help wondering if it will reveal things you want to keep secret."

"Such as?"

"Well, you act like such a cheerful, superficial Elf in public. Writing a book specifically attacking a hapless conspiracy theorist might ruin your image. I mean, you're supposed to be _nice_."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take."

"You're also supposed to be clueless when it comes to politics," observed Elrohir.

It was a legitimate argument. I had already considered the problem. "It's time people see another side of me," I said.

"They might not like what they see."

"They'll forgive me. The public loves me."

Elladan and Elrohir knew this was true. They sighed in unison. Then they excused themselves, left the restaurant, and stranded me with the bill. I had been expecting as much. I paid the bill. Gondorian salad is surprisingly expensive. Must have been made of specially imported lettuce or something.

I walked home. It was a beautiful evening, cold and clear. I felt very much at peace with myself. I was pleased with my stratagems. I was clever. I was popular. I was prepared for anything.

Looking back, I can honestly say I was quite clever. I handled my problems with skill and panache. However, I have since realized I was not as popular as I thought, nor, sadly, was I prepared for anything.

We're told to expect the unexpected, but if we did, we would be such miserable, jittery, paranoid people that our lives wouldn't be worth living. A few surprises generally aren't a bad thing.

Still, I resent the fact that following events took me so off guard.

**TBC...**


	3. Accomplice

**Wyze Lies**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings_. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you so much for reviewing!

* * *

**Erestor.**

As we had arranged, that evening Legolas and I met at a very quiet little café just inside the third wall of Minas Tirith. I arrived first, amazingly, plucking leaves from my hair and attempting to look like any other Elven tourist. This was difficult, because Gimli's attack had made me even more jumpy than usual, and I had to resist the urge to keep on spinning around to look for would-be assailants.

As I began to drink my second cup of tea, Legolas slunk into the room, wearing a clever disguise. He slumped into the chair across from me at the very moment I recognized him.

"Legolas!" I said.

"Not so loud," hissed Legolas.

"Sorry." I peered around furtively, but no one seemed to be looking at us.

Legolas ordered some tea and a pistachio muffin. We sat in silence for a tense ten or so minutes, me looking every which way and Legolas hunched over in his chair, until the food was brought to him. Then the prince of Eryn Lasgalen unfolded himself somewhat, and twitched his mouth at me. I think he was trying to smile. It was hard to tell for sure, however, because he had a large false mustache stuck on his face.

"Are you all right?" I asked him.

"I'm fine." Legolas sipped his tea, and grimaced. He peeled off the mustache. He placed the mustache genteelly under a napkin. He fished several hairs out of the teacup. He sipped his tea again. "I had some trouble with a few fans, but I managed to escape."

"The black eye becomes you," I told him.

"Did you know," asked Legolas reflectively, "that for many years, Aragorn and I traveled throughout Middle-earth?"

"Everyone knows that," I said.

"We had many adventures," continued Legolas. "I got hurt a lot. But did you know that I never _ever _got a black eye during that time?"

"Really?"

"Really." Legolas sighed into his teacup. "Now I never cease to resemble a raccoon."

"Legolas," I said, "I saw you talking to Glorfindel."

"We didn't quite talk to each other," said Legolas. "He spent his time purring demoralizing suggestions at me, and I spent my time attempting to rebuff him. He told me he plans to crush you forever."

"Oh," I said. I knew, of course, that Glorfindel wanted to crush me sooner or later, but it was rather discouraging to hear his intentions voiced so bluntly.

"But we won't let him destroy you," said Legolas, a determined glint in his eyes. "I need you to help me write the alien abduction book!"

I nodded.

"You do have friends in high places," said Legolas. "You are King Éomer's favorite author."

I nodded. Being King Éomer's favorite author had caused me some difficulties in the past, but it had its perqs. Éomer had kindly dedicated Rohan's first public library to me.

"And there's me," said Legolas modestly. "I'll help you."

"Thank you."

"Father will aid us, if we ever get into real trouble," said Legolas. He ate the last piece of his luridly green muffin.

"King Elessar is going to become one of the Wyze," I said. "He is far more powerful than Éomer, and the Wyze –forgive me for saying this– are much more powerful than you and your father."

Legolas shrugged. "We have resources," he said.

"It doesn't matter," I said. "I'm doomed. There's nothing you can do to save me. You should leave before you become even more involved."

"I am not leaving," said Legolas. "Things are just getting interesting. All you really need is another ally, Erestor. Just one more. Then perhaps we would be able to scare Glorfindel away."

"Who will help me?" I asked, nearly overcome with self-pity. Tea always makes me feel self-piteous.

"Someone who doesn't like the Wyze," said Legolas. "I have no idea why you are Éomer's favorite author, but Father and I support you because you are undermining the plots of the Wyze."

"Ah," I said, as a thought struck me.

What if Legolas had lied to me? What if there really _were _Balrogs? Legolas had told me there was no Balrog in Moria, but he might have said so only to encourage me to write a book denouncing the Wyze. Perhaps all this time Legolas had been sniggering up his sleeve at me, watching me take his false evidence and run with it.

If this were so, I was merely a pawn.

"Erestor?" Legolas's voice cut through my thoughts. "Erestor? You look sad. Don't be sad. I have a good idea."

I looked at him, wondering if I could trust him. I wanted to trust him, but I was afraid. Not so much afraid of him, but afraid that I had been wrong for such a long time.

"We'll ask Arwen to help us!" said Legolas brightly. "Everyone knows she hates the Wyze! We'll ask her to help us, and perhaps she will be able to dissuade Aragorn from becoming one of the them!"

"She's probably tried to dissuade him long before now," I said.

"Probably, but she might still help us in some way," said Legolas. "I'm sure she would be willing."

"How will we contact her?" I asked.

"We'll sneak into the palace," said Legolas. "I'll demand to talk to Aragorn, and you can sneak off and find Arwen while I'm distracting everyone."

I gave Legolas a very doubtful look. While I liked the Elf, I found his exuberance unnerving. He seemed to imagine that creeping through the royal palace without observation would be fun and easy. Perhaps it would be – for him. _I_, however, had the lesser part of 'little or no experience' when it came to unlawful entering.

We agreed on what Legolas continually referred to as our 'plan of attack'. We decided to meet the next day. Legolas would be as ostentatious as possible. I would be as invisible as possible. Legolas would try to make contact with Aragorn, while I tried to find Queen Arwen.

"You realize," I said, "if King Elessar catches me alone with Arwen, he'll have a very good excuse for killing me and solving all the Wyze's problems. He could claim I was trying to assassinate her or something."

"Yes, there is that," said Legolas. "You had better try hard not to get caught, then."

Once I found Arwen, I would use my great persuasive abilities to get her to help me. I would briefly outline the plan I had in mind and ask for her cooperation. In the best case scenario, the Queen of Gondor would be overcome with goodwill and agree wholeheartedly to help me out. In a worse case scenario, Legolas would fail to distract Aragorn, and the King would rush in, see me pestering his wife, and promptly kill me.

"But you can't let the possibility of death and failure make you nervous," said Legolas.

"Thanks. In that case, I'll simply not think about death and failure," I said. "Though it's not like I ever get nervous anyway."

If I survived, I would possibly have an ally. With Arwen's assistance, Glorfindel might be defeated, or at least made slightly leery regarding his plans to totally crush me.

"I have one question, though," said Legolas. "Have you talked to Arwen before, while you were in Rivendell?"

I shook my head. "No. Why do you ask?"

The tips of Legolas's ears turned slightly pink, and he stared at his hands. "Well," he said, "do you think you _can _talk to her?"

I looked at him. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

"I haven't been able to help but notice," said Legolas carefully, "that men who try to talk to Arwen often end up babbling incoherently, or, worst of all, just staring."

"Oh," I said.

"The first time she walked through the city of Minas Tirith," said Legolas, "several people walked into large, immovable objects, likes walls and trees. Not just men. Women too. She's _beautiful_."

"I know that," I said. "I've seen her before."

"From a distance," said Legolas.

"Yes," I admitted reluctantly. Arwen hadn't come out in public often. She had always been a rather solitary Elf.

"Well," said Legolas, "I have faith in you. Just don't make a fool of yourself."

I sighed. Now I had to worry about death, failure, and humiliation.

I worried about death, failure, and humiliation all night, and all the next morning. I told myself worrying wouldn't help, but telling myself so didn't help either. My mind worried anyway. It wouldn't stop.

In an attempt to reassure myself, I found a photograph of Arwen. I propped it up on a table and looked at it. After a while, I practiced speaking to it. The picture of Arwen was not reassuring, and I was not reassured. Eventually I wrote out my speech on a piece of paper and tried to memorize it.

By morning, I was very tired and grumpy. I tore up the picture of Arwen and threw it away. I ate toast and thought gloomy, grumpy thoughts. If Glorfindel had shown up, I probably would have thrown something heavy at his head. I would have gladly shoved garlic in his mouth and a stake through his heart. I would have cheerfully boiled him in oil. I nearly wanted him to come to me so that I could do something violent to him.

He did not come, and the grumpy, vicious mood passed, and I was left feeling small and scared.

In the early afternoon, I donned my camouflage. I wore dark colors, and a black and red scarf, because the days were getting colder. I looked very ordinary, but then, it would have taken some time and trouble to make me look anything _but _ordinary.

I walked all the way to the palace. There were a lot of tourists about, and the Knights of Gondor were standing at their watches, looking bored. I sat on a bench and tried to read a book.

By the time Legolas's bright green sports car came swerving into view, my fingers were frozen and my heart was pounding. I watched, mesmerized, as Legolas sprang lightly out of his vehicle, and preened and posed in the courtyard. The tourists rushed at him, screaming. The guards, bored no longer, joined the frenzied mob.

I stumbled to my feet, abandoning the book on the bench, and began to sneak into the palace.

I walked briskly up the path to the palace doors, and walked through. No one stopped me. The guards were trying to obtain a piece of Legolas's shirt. I walked through a marbled hall. Having spied Legolas outside, the tourists in the hall were scrambling to get out of the door to run to him. At the end of the hall were several more halls. All were empty. Legolas was very distracting.

I wandered through the halls for some time, looking for more private quarters. When I found stairs, I climbed them. Eventually the floors become carpeted instead of tiled, and I knew I was closer to her majesty. I was also entering dangerous territory. If caught, I would be in serious trouble. There were more people around, people who had not heard that Legolas was approaching the building, so I was more likely to be caught.

This was the worst part. I started opening doors and peeking cautiously inside rooms. Then–

"Looking for someone?" asked a security guard, thumping his hand down heavily on my shoulder.

I froze. Then I turned around and said, "Yes."

"Really? Who?" asked the security guard, a cynical expression on his face.

"Just an old friend of mine from Rivendell," I said, drawing myself up to the height of his shoulder. I smiled brightly at him. "I believe she's expecting me."

"Who is this 'old friend' of yours?" asked the security guard.

"Arwen," I said, "though, of course, nowadays she's known as the Queen of Gondor." I raised my eyebrows and smirked at him, imitating a look I had seen often on Glorfindel's face. It was a look that said, "I am popular" and "What are you going to do about it?".

The security guard gaped at me. I was not surprised. After all, I was only a small, uninteresting Elf in raggedy clothing, and I was sneaking through the royal palace and saying the queen of Gondor expected me. But I was saying it with complete assurance, not a hint of doubt on my face. Very confusing.

"You're from Rivendell, you say?" asked the security guard.

"Yes," I said.

"I'll take you to her majesty," said the guard. "If she knows you, she'll say so. You must understand, I have to be careful who I let wander through this place. Can't have just anyone showing up."

"Of course not," I said. "I understand completely." I was perfectly calm, but only for two reasons. Firstly, I had despaired utterly of speaking to Arwen. Secondly, I was pretending I was Glorfindel, and Glorfindel never shows utter despair. Not that he's ever despaired anyway. But if he did, he wouldn't show it.

The guard had let go of my shoulder, but now he took my arm and escorted me firmly down the lushly carpeted hall. I maintained my dignity by acting like Glorfindel, and therefore was confident and relaxed and nonchalant, as though this sort of thing happened to me all the time. Even when I was dragged before King Elessar and handed over to the Wyze, I would maintain my dignity. After all, variations on this sort of thing _did _happen to me all the time. I had faced death at the hands of the Wyze so often the experience was beginning to lack interest.

The security guard came to a door, and greeted the guards who stood outside it.

"Who's this?" asked one of the guards.

"He says he's her majesty's friend," said my captor, giving me a little shake. I remained serene.

The guards laughed.

I was trying to decide whether Glorfindel, when mocked by mortal guards, would give them one of his most lethal glares, or whether he would smirk knowingly at them. I didn't know which would be more scary: the glare or the smirk. I thought both would probably seem pretty pathetic if I tried to copy them.

The security guard knocked on the door. "Your majesty," he said humbly, "there's an Elf here to see you. Says he's a friend of yours from Rivendell and you're expecting him."

I closed my eyes, waiting to hear her majesty deny this, but Arwen said, "Show him in. The door isn't locked."

The security guard opened the door and bowed himself through it, dragging me after him.

Arwen, half-rising from her chair, said, "Erestor!", and then sank back, adding in a languid voice, "Yes, I was expecting this Elf. Please put him down."

The guard released my arm with a pained expression. I would have smirked, Glorfindel-like, at him, but I was much too startled to do anything refined.

"You may go," said Arwen, waving her hand at the guard, and he stumbled away, bobbing up and down like a rubber duck in a bathtub.

I made the mistake of looking at her.

She _was _beautiful. She sat at a desk, and had evidently been typing something on a sleek, modern computer. Her hair was pulled back and arranged in braids, jewels sparkled on her forehead, and she had something clutched in her hand. Her lips curved into a smile, and my brain turned mushy and tried to run out my ears.

"Erestor," she said, "I was expecting you, though, I admit, not quite so soon."

I remembered I should breathe, and promptly did so.

"Please sit down," she said. "You must have come for some reason."

I remembered what Legolas had said about 'just staring' and winced mentally. The problem was that I wanted desperately to stare, to drink in every detail of her perfect face and body, so that for the rest of eternity, when she was not before my eyes, I would remember those details.

I sat down, still staring.

Arwen smiled again. "Perhaps this will help," she said, and she opened her hand. I saw she had been holding a pair of glasses, which she proceeded to put on. "My vision," she said apologetically. "Nowadays it's been getting worse and worse. I don't want people to know I wear glasses..."

I shook my head. "I won't tell anyone," I said, and congratulated myself for putting four words together in a coherent sentence in her presence.

She looked as beautiful with glasses as she had looked without them. The dark rims brought out the darkness in her eyes. Somehow, though, with the glasses, she seemed more accessible. They did help.

"Erestor," she said, "I have heard so much about you."

I gaped at her, and then remembered that I was infamous, and probably most people had heard of me. I was more surprised she had recognized me simply by the sight of me.

"I have read both your books," continued the queen.

"Oh," I said. This, I told myself, was what I had wanted, but I was embarrassed just to think of her reading them. She had probably decided I was a total nutcase.

"What can I do for you?" asked Arwen, leaning forward and looking at me expectantly.

I swallowed, remembered the speech I had memorized, and proceeded to recite it to her. By the time I was finished, I wanted to go away and quietly die somewhere. Death and failure would not be as bad as this, I thought. If she wants to help me after this, I don't know if I'll trust her judgement at all.

Arwen sat back in her chair. "Interesting," she said. "I like your plan. Very tricky. I'm sure it would cause Glorfindel some trouble."

I nodded gratefully.

Arwen took off her pair of glasses and nibbled on one of its legs. She sighed, and said, "Before we get too intimate, I suppose I should tell you..."

"Tell me what?" I asked hesitantly.

"That I'm one of the Wyze," Arwen said, and smiled.

**TBC...**


	4. Triple Agent

**Wyze Lies**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings_. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for reviewing! I love to hear all you have to say, though I now have cause to wonder if my plot twists are getting predictable.

* * *

**Erestor.**

I forgot to imitate Glorfindel's perfect, unshakable demeanor, and recoiled so sharply I nearly tipped the chair over backwards. I was halfway to the door before Arwen stopped me with a word. She shoved her glasses back on her beautiful face, and continued, "The guards would catch you, anyway."

I hovered nervously, feeling sick. "But everyone knows you aren't one of the Wyze," I said. "Everyone knows you hate the Wyze."

Arwen opened her desktop drawer and pulled out her identification. She held it up. I looked at it.

"Everyone knows wrong," said Arwen. "I'm a double agent. Sit down, please."

I sat down shakily.

"Actually," said Arwen, "even that is not true. I suppose I'm really a triple agent. The Wyze think I'm on their side. The common people think I'm on their side. But I am actually on a third side, one that will both reform the Wyze and protect the common people."

I blinked.

"Consider yourself lucky," said Arwen. "You happen to be on this third side as well, though evidently you did not realize it."

"Your majesty," I said, "how can you be on _three _sides?"

"The Wyze consists of quite a few Elves and Maiar," explained Arwen, "but it grows more corrupt daily. Some of us cannot bear to see something so good go so wrong, and are attempting to purify it. Our chief problem is Glorfindel. He is the one causing most of the damage, and he is much too powerful for us to simply disqualify from Wyzdom. The third side, the one you and I are on, is the side at work undermining Glorfindel and his influence."

"You aren't trying to destroy the Wyze?" I asked. I admit I was somewhat disappointed.

Arwen shook her head. "No. We are trying to restore its goodness, and" –she grinned suddenly– "its original spelling."

"Who are you? Who does the third side consist of?"

"I don't think I'm at liberty to tell you that," said Arwen, "but let's just say, we're great advocates of family unity."

"Oh," I said, realizing. "So King Elessar is on the third side as well?"

"Of course," said Arwen. "He's entered into the family, after all."

I reeled from the onslaught of surprising information, but thought rapidly and said, "I suppose the actions of Lords Elladan and Elrohir were a diversion."

Arwen nodded. "The Wyze focused on them, certain they would be the ones to attempt to overthrow the system. In doing so, the Wyze completely overlooked the efforts of my father and I." She tapped her fingers on her desk thoughtfully. "Surely you must have wondered who put _Wings: The Great Balrog Conspiracy _on the Internet."

"Yes, I had wondered," I said, and then exclaimed,"_You _did?"

"My father called for a book burning, knowing this would draw the attention of the entire realm to your writings. We find forbidden things so alluring. I posted it on the Internet where anyone could read it."

"I owe your family a great debt!" I cried.

Arwen shook her head. "Don't think of it that way," she said. "You have helped us greatly. Because of you and your theories, Glorfindel's influence is greatly weakened."

"Is there anything else I can do?" I asked, a trifle eagerly, perhaps.

"Your third book is being published in but five days," said Arwen. "On that day, Glorfindel's credibility will suffer a serious blow on _two _fronts. On that day, Aragorn will join the ranks of the Wyze, and there will be enough of us to topple the ruling powers. The 350th Annual Wings Debate will be the last."

I sat silently for a few minutes, delighted, but dazed. "Two fronts?" I asked eventually.

"Yes," said Arwen. "I agree to your plan. It is very good. It will catch Glorfindel entirely by surprise, and it will aid my family even more." She rose. "Erestor," she said, "I am overjoyed to have made your acquaintance. I wish you good luck and long life. Stars shine on your path."

I stood as well, bowing. "The same to you, your majesty."

"Now, you must leave before Glorfindel finds you here. He visits the palace regularly."

I took three steps toward the door, and then a last question occurred to me. I turned. "My lady," I said, "do Balrogs exist?"

Arwen, seated again, looked over the top of her glasses at me. "Of _course _they exist," she said.

The guards outside the door seemed surprised to see me come out of the room in one piece. I smiled at them, and set off down the hallway, heading for the courtyard where Legolas's car was parked.

As I walked, I pondered Arwen's revelations, which seemed far too good to be true, but seemed, on the whole, to make sense. I wasn't sure what to believe: the good parts or the bad parts or both or something completely different.

It seemed my fears were, in a way, correct. I was a pawn. The only reason my books and I had survived was because Lord Elrond and his family had been supporting me, and they had supported me only because I was attacking Glorfindel and revealing the corruption of the Wyze. I had been inadvertently aiding their cause, and so they in turn had aided me. Because of my books, people would be eager for reform. Glorfindel would not be able to resist a takeover by the House of Elrond.

Arwen had told me there were Balrogs. She might have been speaking the truth, or she might have been making a joke. Or perhaps she had said so because she was one of the Wyze, and she wasn't going to publically deviate from their beliefs until the time came. I did not know. I could not be certain.

The good news was that I had allies, and had had allies for some time. On the day my book was published, the Wyze would become the Wise again, Glorfindel would be defeated, and I would be able to live happily ever after. I could finally write the book on alien abduction.

Before I could reach the main doors to leave the palace, I heard Legolas's voice.

"Aragorn," he pleaded, "won't you reconsider? Think of your wife and children!"

"My wife and children support me whole-heartedly. I _will _become one of the Wyze," said the King of Gondor.

I heard Legolas sigh. "Does our friendship mean nothing to you?" he asked, sounding resigned and plaintive simultaneously. "Think of the many sacrifices we have made for each other over the years! Think of all the suffering I have endured on your account!"

"I'm sorry, Legolas," said King Elessar, "but this is something I must do."

I peered down over a balustrade and saw Legolas and Aragorn walking through the lower level of the palace together. Neither looked very happy.

I thought back to the days when Aragorn had been a child growing up in Rivendell. He had been a lot more cheerful then, but that was before he had been deluged with responsibilities. I had taught Aragorn Elven history and penmanship, two entirely unrelated subjects. I wondered if he remembered me.

Even as I wondered this, off my guard for but a moment, someone violently and unexpectedly hoisted me over the rail and flung me toward the floor. I kept my head and landed on my feet – directly in front of King Elessar.

"Erestor!" said Aragorn, remembering me.

"Run!" cried Legolas.

I suspected Aragorn was on my side, but I wasn't supposed to know that, and I didn't want to betray him, so I ran.

I ran down a hall, through a door, down another hall, out a main door into a courtyard, and right into Glorfindel, who was walking into the palace carrying a briefcase.

"Erestor!" said Glorfindel, lunging at me.

I slipped from his grasp, agile with desperation. I thought I had escaped unscathed for about two seconds, and then Glorfindel grabbed my scarf and gave it a savage yank, half-throttling me. Wearing a scarf had evidently been a bad idea.

Glorfindel attempted to drag me toward the palace by the scarf, but I managed to untie it. Before he could do anything else, I dashed off.

I was suddenly amused to think that _no one _had expected me to appear in King Elessar's home, except perhaps Arwen. Even she hadn't expected me so soon. I was catching everyone by surprise. I was being _unpredictable_. Unpredictability is power.

I ran out to Legolas's car, and, moments later, Legolas was beside me, twisting his keys in the ignition and looking panicky.

Legolas sped out of the courtyard, nearly running over some people who had come to chip paint off his car for souvenirs.

I did not want to distract Legolas as he drove around at such high speeds, so I sat quietly and waited for him to relax and slow down. I thought about how easily my attacker had tossed me off the side of the balcony. I decided I needed to eat more.

"Someone tried to kill you!" said Legolas. "Or else," he asked doubtfully, "you did that nosedive toward Aragorn intentionally?"

"No," I said. "Someone knocked me over the side, but he might not have done it on purpose."

Actually, no. The whole thing had been very purposeful. The only way the incident could have been an accident was if the would-be assassin had been trying to kill someone other than myself.

"Who do you think it was?"

"I don't know. It wasn't Glorfindel, because I ran into him on the way out," I said. "Anyway, it wasn't his style. He usually threatens me first, because he likes confirmation of his scariness."

"Then you must have enemies everywhere," said Legolas.

"Whoever it was wasn't trying to kill me," I said. "There was no way the fall could have killed an Elf. He probably just wanted to draw attention to me so I would be caught."

(Much later, I discovered that the perpetrator of the attack had been one of the many Gondorian Elf-haters who resented my very existence. It had absolutely nothing to do with my writing books about the Wyze. At the time, I was not aware this was the case, so the incident made me even more jumpy.)

"Aragorn is adamant," Legolas informed me miserably, as we drove through the city. "He insists on becoming one of the Wyze."

"It might not be such a bad thing," I said calmly, having recovered my Glorfindel-poise. "I have some good news for you."

I told him the good news. Legolas was delighted.

"It makes sense," he said, "though I wish Aragorn had told me himself."

"Do you think," I asked, "that perhaps Arwen was lying, to lull us into a false sense of security?"

"Do you think," asked Legolas, "that everyone is out to get you?"

I pondered this. "Probably not," I said.

"There you are," said Legolas. "Stop worrying. Be happy." It was well and good for him to tell me this; after all, he had just discovered his friend was on his side. I had been nearly killed twice in the space of a minute.

"I have to get my hair cut, and then someone's interviewing me for a Gondorian fashion magazine," said Legolas. "Can I drop you off somewhere?"

I found Legolas to be rather perplexing at times. His moods swung all over the place, and his personality executed 180 degree turns at unexpected moments. I knew he was a warrior. I knew he was one of the bravest Elves I would ever meet. But he actually enjoyed being pampered and photographed and interviewed, and he got his hair cut in a shop, instead of doing it himself at home. I hear a lot of the Silvan Elves are like that. Completely bipolar. Not like the Noldor, who are all more or less insane by human standards, but better at hiding it most of the time.

Legolas dropped me off at my apartment, waved farewell, and drove away. I watched him go, still puzzled. I trudged inside, hands shoved in my pockets.

Once inside, I realized I had left my book on a bench somewhere outside Aragorn's home. I would never know if the main characters triumphed over the evil sociopath and his demented minions. I worried about the fate of the main characters as I microwaved some soup. I was used to worrying about myself, so worrying about other people, even if they were fictional, made a nice change.

Eating my soup, I began worrying about myself again. I reminded myself that I hadn't won yet. Victory seemed near, but it is at this sort of time that people get overconfident and make costly mistakes. I wanted to avoid this, so I considered all the horrible things that could happen to me in the next five days. Glorfindel could still arrange to have me bumped off. Arwen could turn out to be on Glorfindel's side. Glorfindel's book could be the end of my career. My book could be shredded by critics and lampooned by the populace.

The five days passed very slowly. I languished in my apartment, eating soup and fearing the worst.

I suppose now would be a good time for me to tell you what _Wyze Lies: The Necessary Myth of the Balrog-Slayers _was actually about.

To put it simply, it was all about Glorfindel.

I had noticed, in my previous adventures, that Glorfindel was the only member of the Wyze who really seemed to care about my fate. The others were far more apathetic when it came to myself and my books. This meant that Glorfindel was the only one who wanted to perpetuate all the lies about Balrogs.

Why would Glorfindel want to do this?

The answer is twofold. For one thing, Glorfindel evidently enjoyed watching people get overexcited during the Annual Wings Debates. For another thing, the mystery and glamor surrounding Glorfindel owed its debt mainly to the supposed fact that Glorfindel had died killing a Balrog. If Balrogs do not exist, then Glorfindel could not have died killing one. In that case, Glorfindel was a perfectly ordinary Elf, though amazingly devious. He had not died to protect his people. He had not been reborn to help Lord Elrond and bring peace and happiness and fashion-sense to the people of Middle-earth.

Glorfindel had probably come to power through claiming to kill a Balrog. He had stayed in power because people thought he was a hero. Therefore, the myth of the Balrog-slayers was necessary, at least in Glorfindel's eyes. Without it, Glorfindel would lose almost everything that mattered to him.

I hoped my book would play a part in undermining Glorfindel's credibility.

On the day of the Annual Wings Debate, I rose early, skipped breakfast, despite all my resolutions to eat more, and sat and stared at the door, willing myself to get up and walk through it.

This is a defining moment in my life, I thought. I can go to the bookstore and sign copies of _Wyze Lies _or I can crawl under my bed and hope tomorrow comes extra soon.

Then it struck me. If the defining moment in my life is _to walk through a door_, what kind of ridiculous life have I been living? I decided that my life had probably been defined already. Therefore, whether or not I walked out the door, something bad would happen to me. I couldn't imagine my life having been defined for the better.

I decided to face my fate boldly, and boldly walked out the door.

I walked down to the bookstore, which had not yet opened. Glorfindel's fans were beginning to stir, to pack up their tents and choke down quick breakfasts. I sneaked through their midst without detection.

The owner of the bookstore, a jolly, enthusiastic man, greeted me at a side door and whisked me through it. He was even more jolly and enthusiastic than usual. His smile was so broad it threatened to fall off his face, and he rubbed his hands together in a way that communicated his zeal for selling lots of copies of my book and thereby making a fortune and becoming renowned in book-selling circles.

I was being cynical that morning. Maybe he was simply glad to see me.

"Come in, come in," said the bookstore-owner, his breath fogging in the air. "I've set up a little table at which you can sign your books."

Entering the bookstore, I was immediately confronted by a very large display that unabashedly featured copies of Glorfindel's book (_Paranoia and Confusion: An Analytical Look at Erestor and his Works of Fiction_). Evidently the bookstore owner wasn't even going to _attempt_ to be unbiased.

The perpetrator of this atrocity cleared his throat and said, "Your desk is this way."

It was. To describe the desk as a'little' one was to indulge in a moment of barefaced hyperbole.

The final straw was the music. Even as I stood, looking without surprise at the nearly microscopic desk at the back of the bookstore, the radio came on. A version of 'The Defenestration of Erestor' was playing. It was being sung by a girl with a breathless voice that invariably makes me think of pink bubble gum and lip gloss. The insult in all this was impossible to overlook.

I never yell when I am angry. It is not dignified to yell. Glorfindel, I have noticed, never yells.

"Are you sure this is my desk?" I asked.

The man nodded.

"Really? This isn't Glorfindel's desk?"

He shook his head.

"I believe you have made a mistake," I said. "Please allow me to correct it."

The owner of the bookstore looked at me nervously, the jolly smile slipping from his lips, as well it should.

In only twenty minutes, I had bestowed upon Glorfindel the desk that had previously been for me, dragged Glorfindel's desk to a better location, and arranged a display of my own books. As I had done this, the owner of the bookstore had trotted behind me, voicing pitiful arguments, but I refused to back down. 'The Defenestration of Erestor' reminded me of previous ignominious defeats, in which I had panicked and fled, when instead I should have fought back.

It was a pity Glorfindel had chosen to arrive fashionably late. If he had been earlier, he probably could have stopped me.

I sat down at my new desk. The bookstore owner had kindly provided Glorfindel with fine quality ink and pens. I arranged these on the top of the desk, and sat and waited.

Glorfindel arrived ten minutes later. He was wearing a long, dark coat, gloves, and my black and red scarf. He smiled at me. "There's quite a crowd out there," he said, pulling the gloves off finger by finger. "Don't worry. I saw some fans of yours," he added, in a reassuring tone. "Some are waving signs about black helicopters and UFOs, and some are waving signs advocating anarchy. It's hard to miss them."

I wanted to say something terribly cutting, but Glorfindel had already glided to his desk. He looked at it for a moment. He looked at my desk. He summoned the bookstore owner with a wave of his hand. The bookstore owner wiggled like a worm on a hook as Glorfindel spoke to him, but then he looked relieved and slithered away.

He returned with a large red tablecloth, and draped it over Glorfindel's desk, causing it to look very elegant and individualistic. Glorfindel removed his coat and my scarf. He sat behind the desk, looking very elegant and smug.

The doors to the bookstore opened, and the people came flooding inside, waving their signs and chanting slogans. They snatched books from the displays and formed two long, curling lines. One line led to my desk; the other line led to Glorfindel's desk. I couldn't tell which line was longer. It looked to be rather a close thing.

Soon I was signing books frantically. At first I tried to say something to the person who was kindly purchasing my book, and the person tried to say something back, but it was soon apparent that this wouldn't work. Those in line viciously elbowed purchasers aside, thrusting their books at me and saying loud, frantic things about balrogs, conspiracies, and alien invasions. Glorfindel seemed to be having the same problem. Probably his fans weren't talking about alien invasions though.

It began with a few jeers, a little outburst of mocking laughter. The next thing I knew, one of my fans was beating one of Glorfindel's fans over the head with a poster decrying the government, Glorfindel was watching in bemusement, and a group of his fans were rallying to attack three unkempt men who claimed to be ufologists.

The scene became very violent, very quickly.

I felt guilty, since it had been _my _fans who had initiated the onslaught. Interestingly, they also seemed to be the ones who were winning. Perhaps it was because they were armed with heavier signs. I don't know. I didn't think my intervention would help matters, so I didn't do anything. I just sat and watched, horrified.

It took about three minutes before the deranged fans turned on Glorfindel and myself. One of the ufologists tried to stab Glorfindel with one of his book-signing pens. Glorfindel avoided the blow, rose from his chair, and looked around. Several of his fans limped to his side, holding bent posters and battered copies of his book.

Several conspiracy theorists joined me, and Beregond and his anarchists were soon happily engaged in fending off Glorfindel's most ardent supporters.

"What idiot arranged for us to be signing books on the same day, in the same bookstore?" demanded Glorfindel, grinning at me. Conflict brought out the best in him.

"I think it was him," I replied, pointing at the bookstore owner, who now looked completely unjolly at the sight of his bookstore being ripped apart. I bore a grudge against that man.

"Hmm," said Glorfindel. "Remind me to talk to him after all this is over."

"I will," I said, and attempted to duck and weave through the bookstore, away from the melee. The attempt didn't really work. It was too crowded. Some of my fans were still clamoring for me to sign their books, like my autograph mattered when all our lives were on the line.

"Stop this!" said a loud, authoritative voice. The anarchists, who did not like authority, did not stop. However, most people calmed down when they saw the King of Gondor and his wife enter the bookstore. The anarchists, who couldn't fight when no one was fighting them back, eventually stopped as well.

We all stood and panted for breath, faces flushed red with exertion, anger, triumph, or embarrassment.

Arwen smiled at us. She wasn't wearing her glasses. She looked amazing.

"I have a little announcement to make," she said.

**TBC...**


	5. Spy Master

**Wyze Lies**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings_. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Once again, thank you for reviewing! The next chapter should be the last.

* * *

**Glorfindel.**

The events that caught me off guard all happened on the same day. Ironically, the day was one to which I look forward all year: the day of the Annual Wings Debate, and, not coincidentally, the day my book was published.

I awakened early that morning feeling happy and expectant, ate a wholesome, healthy breakfast, and walked to Aragorn's palace. There, the King of Gondor became one of the Wyze in an ancient initiation ritual, which I conducted. As is traditional, there were four other witnesses present, who I will not name.

Following the ancient initiation ritual, I walked to the bookstore, and prepared myself for the book-signing.

I suppose I should have expected at least one dramatic event to occur on the day Erestor and I signed books in the same bookstore. I had assumed that nothing would happen that I could not handle, and that any dramatic events taking place would either be instigated by me, or, at the very worst, affect Erestor more than they affected me. However, I did not realize that Erestor had such vicious fans. After they had attacked several of my poor adherents with their posters, the outbreak of violence was almost shocking in its intensity.

As I fought off anarchists, the King and Queen of Gondor entered the bookstore. This created quite a stir, but fortunately had the effect of distracting my attackers. Irony of ironies, I was very glad to see Aragorn. Reenforcements are always a good thing, I find. Unfortunately, at that point, I did not realize that Aragorn and his lovely, backstabbing wife were not there to reenforce _me._

Arwen said, "I have an announcement to make."

At this, from somewhere in the fray, Erestor made a little squeaky noise under his breath. I was puzzled because I did not think I knew of any announcement Arwen had to make, and curious, because it seemed from the way Erestor was behaving that _he _knew. Several undercover reporters produced cameras and equipment from behind bookshelves, and hurried forward to broadcast the announcement on live television.

When the camera equipment was ready, Arwen drew herself up, pointed at me, and said, "Glorfindel is a liar!"

I nearly gaped at her, but caught my expression just in time. Everyone else seemed equally astonished. My fans said, "ahhh" and the anarchists said, "hear, hear", and Erestor retreated behind his desk and looked slightly sick.

Arwen picked up a copy of _Paranoia and Confusion: An Analytical Look at Erestor and his Works of Fiction. _She said, "Lord Glorfindel did not write this book."

My fans said, "oh" and the anarchists looked confused.

"What do you mean, your majesty?" I asked politely. "Of course I wrote that book."

Asking a queen what she means is the safer way of telling royalty not to be silly. I had a sinking suspicion that Arwen was not being silly at all. She was being far too clever.

Hooray, I thought.

Arwen smiled at me. "Glorfindel," she said kindly, "everyone knows you are clueless when it comes to politics. Everyone knows you are far too nice a person to write something so harsh and critical. And everyone knows that there is no way a superficial, lovable Elf such as yourself could write an 'analytical look' at anything. You simply do not have the intellect. I do not understand why you tried to pass off my work as your own, but I cannot let it happen."

I had been afraid from the beginning that Arwen's diatribe would lead to this 'revelation', but I had not had the time to prepare for it. I echoed her words in spite of myself, and probably gaped a little as well. "_Your_ work?" I said.

"My work," said Arwen firmly. She smiled brightly at the cameras, and the cameramen looked dazed. "I wrote a report on Erestor for my father, who, as you all must know, is a member of the Wyze. Somehow, Glorfindel must have gotten his hands on the manuscript, and had it published as his own work. As I have already stated, I cannot let that happen. The report contains confidential information that only the Wyze can know. Glorfindel should not have made such information public. Certainly he should not have made it public under his own name."

For the split second after Arwen finished, everything was silent. Anarchists, ufologists, cameramen and fans quietly absorbed the new information. Then, this task complete, the crowd erupted. They exclaimed in horror. They exclaimed in triumph. They shouted questions. They shouted at each other.They pressed around the queen, eager for more information, or for her glance to rest on them for a few seconds. Erestor and I were utterly forgotten, though I knew that would not last.

I stood still, faltering. I did not know what to do. In the long run, Arwen's claim would lack evidence to support it. There was no way it would hold up in court. But she had wanted to surprise me, and she had wanted to hurt my reputation, and she had succeeded.

I did not feel betrayed by her, not in a personal way, since I had never allowed myself to trust any of the Wyze. We really aren't a trustworthy bunch, after all. I felt angry, but not betrayed. I should have anticipated such a move on her part, or anyone's part, for that matter. Anyone could have showed up and claimed to have written my book. Arwen was the most dangerous claimant, because she was so beautiful, and the sort of woman people would happily believe even if she told them the sky was green and the grass was blue.

Erestor had slumped back weakly in his chair, big-eyed, staring at Arwen with a strange expression on his face. I could tell he did not want to look at me, and, at the same time, that he wanted to see my reaction. At last he turned his head slowly, and our eyes met.

Erestor and I looked at each other, and I realized that Erestor must have been somehow involved in Arwen's plan. Only five days before, I had seen him come racing out of the palace as though all the Wyze were on his heels. He had not looked very surprised when Arwen had entered the bookstore with her announcement. He seemed stricken now, but that was probably because he thought I was going to kill him. Third time lucky, and all that.

Someone coughed, and I averted my eyes from Erestor to look at Aragorn, who suddenly stood beside me.

"I'm holding a special meeting of the Wyze at my palace at noon," said Aragorn. "I'm sorry," he added.

He did seem truly apologetic. I smiled one of my most reassuring smiles at him. "Don't worry about it, your majesty," I said. "This is the way the game is played."

I had not read Erestor's book at that time, but it occurred to me that _Wyze Lies _had been a good name for it. Lying is what we do. Arwen might have thought that defeating me placed her on the side of truth and justice, but in defeating me she had lied more brazenly than I ever had. Or had _generally_.

I gathered my belongings and left the bookstore before it could occur to anyone else to talk to me.

I went back to my hotel room and plotted. No doubt the special meeting would involve voting me out of the Wyze, in the same way we had removed Saruman from the membership role. I could take this blow meekly, or I could fight back. Or I could take the blow meekly and _then _fight back, when everyone was least expecting it.

This last idea appealed to me. I already wanted revenge. I wanted it more than anything, and after revenge, I wanted to talk to Erestor, to find out just how much of Arwen's plan he had known in advance. Then I would get revenge on him too.

Someone knocked on the door. I considered opening it, but decided that my room was too devastated to invite anyone in. When I feel frustrated, my plotting tends to involve throwing lots of things against walls.

"Who is it?" I asked cheerfully.

"Elladan."

"And Elrohir."

"That's lovely," I said, still cheerfully. "Go away."

"We realize that–"

I noticed I was still holding a vase in my hand, so I threw it against the door. At the sound of the crash, the voices stopped for a moment, and then the twins said, "All right."

"We'll go."

"But we'll be back."

"We want to talk to you."

I listened to their footsteps fade away. Then I looked for more smashable objects. Finding none, I sat down and glowered into the distance, still plotting, but without any strenuous activity involved in the process.

There was another knock on the door. I sighed. Just when I had run out of ammunition, yet more visitors had come calling. Was there a sign on the other side of the door that read 'Pity me'? Or did it say 'Annoy me'? I was beginning to wonder.

"Who is it?" I growled.

"Erestor."

"Which one?" I asked. Not that I knew any other Erestors personally, but I certainly didn't know any Erestors who would come willingly to me when I was in a bad mood. "The conspiracy theorist?" I added helpfully. The Erestor I know hates being called that.

I imagined that I could hear him grinding his teeth. "Yes. That Erestor," he said, sounding irritated. How very novel of him.

"Come in," I said.

Erestor opened the door, but he didn't step into the room. Clever Elf. "I'd like my scarf back," he mumbled.

"Your scarf," I said flatly. I had almost hoped he had come to beg for mercy.

He nodded.

"Fine. Come in and get it."

"I'd rather not."

"Oh, I don't mind."

"I don't want to intrude, Lord Glorfindel."

"Nonsense. I can hardly call coming into my room and taking clothing out of it 'intruding'."

Erestor took a deep breath, and said, "I didn't know."

"About intruding?"

"I didn't know Lady Arwen would claim to have written your book. It wasn't my idea. I didn't want that," said Erestor rapidly. He glanced up, and glared at me. "I didn't want any of us to have to stoop to your level to combat you. It wasn't necessary."

"She believed it was necessary," I said. "You aren't looking at the problem Wyzely, even after writing three books about us."

"I wanted you to know that I don't think Arwen fought you fairly."

I laughed. "If I expected people to fight me fairly, ever single day of my life would contain a multitude of unpleasant shocks, Erestor. Don't fret. I intend to fight back, and I plan to fight fire with fire. However, thank you for your apology on Arwen's behalf. It's nice to know some people in this world care about honesty and integrity and so on and so forth."

Erestor accepted my thanks with a little nod of his head, but he did not quite cease to glare. I suppose he did not like to hear me belittle honesty and integrity.

"You really have changed," I said, leaning back in my chair and stifling a yawn. Ancient initiation rituals conducted in early hours of the morning are extremely draining. "Be thankful I'm feeling mellow at the moment. I would be much more violent otherwise."

"Yes, I realize that," said Erestor, looking at the floor. "I see a good deal of fine china was sacrificed to put you in such a mellow mood."

"I'm sure you'd rather I smashed china and not your head," I said. I smiled lazily. "Go away, Erestor. Run and hide. I'll come after you soon enough, but I have a few other problems to deal with first."

Erestor did not run and hide. He cleared his throat. "My scarf," he said, holding out one hand.

I contemplated grabbing Erestor's scarf from my coat rack and chasing him around the hotel with it. A well-made scarf is an invaluable weapon in the hands of an expert. I yawned again. I was exhausted. I couldn't be bothered. I would rest, and _then_ I would hunt Erestor down.

"Get it yourself," I told him. "If you force me to get up and hand you your scarf, I may be tempted to simply strangle you with it."

Erestor understood, which was good, since I had spelled out the situation very clearly for him. He hopped into the room, snatched his scarf from the coat rack, and hurried away. I was asleep the moment his footsteps died away completely.

When I awakened, it was nearly time for the big meeting. I cannot say I was looking forward to suffering job-loss at the hands of democracy, but I wanted the experience to be over as soon as possible, so I would be able to concentrate on getting revenge on everyone.

I wasn't hungry. I dressed in my finest robe: the one involving a vast quantity of cloth, and a lot of embroidery that no one would ever see. I would have looked impressive in anything, but I looked imposing and defiant and regal in that robe. I wanted my career to end in a blaze of glory, not with some pathetic little whimper.

I laughed as I regarded myself in my mirror. Yes. A blaze of glory. That was the best way. After all, my first life had ended in a blaze of glory, hadn't it?

I swept out of my room, out of the hotel, and into the street. I strode down the street, and people scuttled out of my way, and I told myself that getting revenge would be very enjoyable.

There are days when I am awed by my own personality. The power of it goes to my head. I realize that if I smile at someone, I will have made his or her day. If I frown, everyone around me will wonder what they are doing wrong. If I say 'please', people will rush to oblige me, and if I say 'thank you', people will flush with pride and pleasure. They will do anything to make me happy, because my happiness will make them happy too.

These dire circumstances did nothing to crush that feeling of power in me. Perhaps I was clinging to it with a particular desperation because of the dire circumstances. I'm not sure. At any rate, I stopped glowering, and instead focused on looking bright and vibrant and undefeated. A blaze of glory indeed.

The meeting went very quickly. Aragorn wouldn't look me in the eyes, but Arwen met my gaze unabashedly. Gandalf was there, seeming shaken, and Galadriel and Celeborn were there, conferring quietly with each other, and Elrond was there via a large television screen. He seemed merely distracted, and reported that the Annual Wings Debate had turned into a frenzied discussion of whether or not Balrogs actually existed. So Erestor had succeeded, at least in that respect.

Arwen announced that I was unfit to be a member of the Wyze, that I was blackening the reputation of the entire group. I was outwardly and inwardly unruffled. I sat back in my chair and looked faintly amused, because faint amusement always worries the people who want to think they are destroying your life.

They voted me out, of course. Unanimously, too. Surprise, surprise.

At this point I think I should mention that I DON'T want you to suppose I'm some kind of victim, because I'm not. If you're reading this and thinking, 'oh, poor Glorfindel, he didn't deserve all that', then please reconsider. I'm positively nasty, and the scary thing is that I can be positively nasty and still endearing, and I'm sure I could make you feel very, very sorry for me if I wanted. I've toyed with the idea of writing this account to make Erestor look evil and myself perfect, but I've decided to be mostly truthful, just to prove to Erestor that I don't lie_ all _the time.

Anyway, I hate the thought of looking like a victim, which was why my farewell speech to the Wyze was full of sparkling wit and entirely devoid of regret. It was time for me to move on to better, more noble things, I said. _Like revenge_, I thought. I smiled at the Wyze, and let them know what I was thinking. I enjoyed watching them squirm in their seats.

As I said, I'm positively nasty.

I went back to my hotel. It felt lonely. Without people surrounding me, it is much harder for me to assure myself of my power and worth. I made myself hot chocolate, melted a peppermint in it, and dragged a beach chair outside. I sat on my balcony and drank the hot chocolate and watched snowflakes flutter gently to the streets below. I tried not to think of anything.

Are you, in spite of all my warnings, thinking, 'oh, poor Glorfindel'?

I almost was.

Hot chocolate always makes me feel sorry for myself. I thought of the Annual Wings Debate, now ended once and for all; I thought of the part I had played as one of the Wyze, which I would never play again; I thought of all those hours –wasted hours– I had spent writing a book to denounce Erestor; I thought of all the friends I didn't have, and all the money I hadn't made, and all the spies I had hired, who were now also jobless. I felt absolutely pathetic.

I was glad no one was there to see me drown my sorrows in a hot drink.

Then Elladan said, "Is that good? It smells like mint. Is it mint?"

Elrohir said, "Could we have some too?"

"If you like," I said listlessly. "The kettle should still be warm."

Elladan and Elrohir hurried into the little kitchen to make themselves hot chocolate. I hoped they wouldn't find my stash of peppermints. That would be the last straw.

"Father told us all about the meeting," said Elrohir, coming back out onto the balcony, holding a mug. It was one of the few survivors of my earlier plotting. "We aren't part of the Wyze officially," he continued, " but he lets us know what goes on."

"They voted," said Elladan, "and decided to call themselves the Wise again."

I mustered a smirk. "I'm glad. Don't know whose bright idea it was to call us –to call _them_– the Wyze. It's not as though the inclusion of a few less common letters make the word 'more modern'," I finished, quoting the Lady Galadriel.

Elladan and Elrohir smiled at me.

"May I ask why you are here?" I asked suddenly. "You can't have come simply to drink all my hot chocolate."

"Glorfindel," said Elrohir, "we decided it was only fair to let you know what is going on within the Wise."

I wondered why all my enemies were so obsessed with being fair to me. It seemed rather condescending of them, but I chose not to comment. Being treated fairly was quite nice, but it didn't mean I was going to start treating them the same way. I needed all the advantages I could get.

"With you gone, Arwen has invited us to join the Wise," said Elrohir. "As you must have realized, we have never been as opposed to the Wise as we occasionally acted."

I grinned briefly. "Occasionally acted," I repeated, raising my eyebrows, and Elrohir had the decency to look embarrassed. I'm never that decent. "You threatened to burn down our headquarters," I reminded them.

Elladan shrugged. "A threat made in a moment of youthful exuberance," he said.

"If you like."

"We have chosen not to join," said Elrohir. "For the moment."

"Why is that?"

"Because..." Elrohir hesitated. "We have made so many arguments against the existence of the Wise over the years... I think we see its deficiencies more clearly than our sister. She wants the power, and she enjoys the conflict, as you did. Elladan and I prefer the thought of unity within a group. We value trust – because we can trust each other, I suppose."

I understood that. Elladan and Elrohir had always worried me; they were always so unpredictable, and I knew I did not frighten them. But I also knew they would not lie to me.

"We are here to make you an offer, Glorfindel," said Elladan.

"Oh?"

"You can say no, if you want, but we would like you to think about it," said Elrohir.

I nodded. Snowflakes drowned slowly in my lukewarm drink. I almost resented the sons of Elrond for bringing me an offer when I was feeling lonely and depressed, because I knew I would say yes to almost anything, so desperate was I for a new beginning and a new challenge. "Tell me your offer," I said quietly.

"Work for us."

"You're clever, and you have experience."

"We need you."

"We need someone to keep an eye on the Wise."

"Not to interfere with them, really."

"Just someone to make sure they don't start hoarding secrets again."

"We can protect you, in case they send someone to... well, you know."

"To silence you, Glorfindel."

"And we're worried about Arwen."

"The power might go to her head."

"Soon she'll have more power on her side than the rest of the Wise combined."

"She's been plotting this takeover for years."

I held up a hand, and their voices faded away. "You want me to work for you," I said. "You want me to spy on the Wise, and in return, you'll make sure I don't get bumped off by certain individuals with cause to want me dead." I knew there were several of said individuals, who'd all be rubbing their hands gleefully now that I wasn't one of the Wise.

"Yes," Elladan and Elrohir said together.

"I thought you valued trust," I said. "You don't trust me."

"That's true," said Elrohir.

"We've been watching you for years," said Elladan. "We feel we know you very well. We know your methods, your tricks, and all your various personalities. We also know you enjoy challenges involving a little subterfuge."

They stood up, stepped away from me. "Think about it," said Elrohir.

"I will," I said.

Just before they left, Elladan turned and said, "One more thing. Father says the Wise elected to invite Erestor to join them."

"They haven't contacted him yet," said Elrohir, "but they will."

The door snicked shut.

I thought for a long time. I sat on the balcony in my beach chair until darkness fell and my fine robes were soggy with melted snow.

This might sound very sad and dismal, but I was no longer feeling sorry for myself. At the very thought of my future, I smiled faintly, a real smile. Perhaps my hirelings were not facing sudden unemployment after all.

'Glorfindel, Spy-Master,' I thought. I liked the sound of it.

**TBC...**


	6. Balrog Slayer

**Wyze Lies**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings_.

Here it is: the final chapter. I hope it lives up to expectations. Thank you for sticking around to read the entire story!

**Erestor.**

On the day of the Annual Wings Debate, three things changed.

One was the nature, and, in fact, the very existence, of the Annual Wings Debate. The day after the 350th took place, I read in the newspapers that Lord Elrond had stepped forward and put an end to them. He said people could debate if they wished, but 'to set aside a specific day for dissension only perpetuated a pointless conflict'. I wholeheartedly agreed with him. I hoped these changes would allow Imladris to become a peaceful realm once again.

Another was the Wise, who changed not only in spelling but in creed. Aragorn made a statement about how the Wise would be totally sincere and above board henceforth. As a gesture of their new endeavor to reform, they voted Glorfindel out. I had not realized they would go so far as to do that, or perhaps I would not have dared to show up and demand my scarf back from him. Suddenly, all the smashed china made sense. It even seemed quite moderate, for Glorfindel.

I was the third thing to change. Glorfindel had mentioned on several occasions that I was different, but he had always done so in a careless, condescending way, and I hadn't bothered to believe him. I believed hardly anything Glorfindel told me.

As I had walked home from his hotel, my scarf clutched triumphantly in my hand, I realized that I _had _changed. The Erestor of three years ago would not have recognized me. I had a tan, a fan following, and the ability to ride a camel. I had written three books, survived a multitude of assassination attempts, and had actually _faced down Glorfindel_. And lived.

Yes, I was still paranoid, and yes, I felt cynical and disillusioned, but I could also be confident. With a little practice, I could become something like the good version of Glorfindel. I would smile more, and never act scared, and never, ever despair utterly.

I resolved to put this new philosophy into practice forthwith.

When a group of my fans rushed at me, waving copies of my book, I signed everything they thrust in my direction, which included not just books, but some arms, foreheads, and articles of clothing. I also told two jokes.

When I read in the newspaper that Glorfindel had disappeared, leaving his bedroom in a state of devastation, and without paying his hotel bill, I shrugged and dismissed him from my mind. What he did had nothing to do with me. Probably.

When the Wise telephoned, asking me if I wished to join their elite ranks, I said, "No, that's not for me, thanks."

To be honest, it was Legolas who made it so incredibly easy to turn down the Wise. He was in my apartment when they telephoned, and at their offer of membership, he stared intently at the back of my head until I politely refused. I would have refused anyway, but it was nice to know that Legolas was there to back me up in my decision (or to rip me apart, should I make the wrong choice).

That's what true friends are for, right?

Three days after the Annual Wings Debate, Legolas told me, "My father wants to meet you."

"Really?" I said, trying (and failing) to imagine myself being important enough to meet the King of Eryn Lasgalen. Then I told myself not to think that way, because Glorfindel would have taken Legolas's announcement completely for granted. Then I wondered if I really wanted to be like Glorfindel, because his brand of confidence seemed to border on megalomania.

Legolas nodded. "After you said no to the Wise, he knew for certain that you were on our side, and now he wants to meet you."

"I would love to be acquainted with your father," I said carefully.

"Good," said Legolas, "because he'll be here in" –checking his wristwatch– "ten minutes."

"Ten minutes!" I shouted, panicking completely.

"All right, _now _you look like a wild-eyed conspiracy theorist," said Legolas, smirking.

"Don't call me that," I snapped. "Stop making smart remarks and help me redecorate my apartment."

Legolas began to grow concerned when I started running around the house, straightening furniture like an Elf possessed. "Erestor..." he said. "You don't have to do all this. Dad has gazed upon the devastation commonly known as my bedroom. Not only that, he has lived to tell the tale. This is nothing. Really. ...Erestor, would you pause for a moment and_ breathe_?"

Unfortunately, Legolas's attempts to get me to breathe were swiftly met with failure. The instant I paused with the intention of breathing, I saw a green limousine pull up in the street outside. Two very large bodyguards stepped out and looked dangerous. I did not know even Elves could be that tall.

"He's here!" I gasped. Who other than the King of Eryn Lasgalen would dare to travel in a green limousine? In a daze, I staggered over to open the door.

"Pretend you're Glorfindel!" yelled Legolas from the other room. He wasn't being helpful, and I'm sure he knew it.

I opened the door, not only pretending I was Glorfindel, but pretending I had been aware of Thranduil's visit for some time, instead of five minutes. "Your majesty!" I said, enthusiastic, but not altogether obsequious. "How wonderful it is to see you!" I added, wisely lying.

Thranduil said, "I'm delighted to be introduced to you at last, Erestor", ignoring the fact that no one had actually introduced me to him.

Thranduil was supposed to be on the Wise's list of particularly dangerous enemies, and I had reason to believe I was on that list as well. We were Elves with a common goal, but that did not explain why he had gone out of his way to meet me. I began to grow suspicious of his motives.

"Hi, Dad," said Legolas nonchalantly, emerging from the other room with a teacup in one hand and a teakettle in the other, like some poster child for wild Wood-elf partying.

Wild Wood-elf _tea_-partying, that is.

"Erestor and I would like to talk to each other in private," said Thranduil, with a sudden stiff politeness, and he grabbed my arm and dragged me past Legolas and into my small living room, leaving Legolas stranded in the kitchen with all my food. I sighed at this infelicitous arrangement.

Thranduil plonked me down on a sofa, sat on a chair across from me, and said, without further preliminaries, "Do you believe in alien abductions?"

"Believe in them?" I echoed, startled. "You mean, believe they happen?"

Thranduil nodded grimly.

I swallowed.

"Please be honest," said Thranduil. "I really want to know, and I'm not going to maim you if you give the wrong answer."

Which meant there _was _a wrong answer. I wondered what Glorfindel would do. I swallowed again, took a deep breath, and said, "No."

Thranduil flopped back in his seat. "Ah," he said. "You and my son are going to write a book about Legolas's alien abduction experiences, and you don't even believe alien abductions _happen_?"

I nodded, praying to all the Valar that I hadn't given the wrong answer. I was sure Thranduil's alternatives to maiming me could be pretty unpleasant.

"I suppose believing one conspiracy theory doesn't give a person cause to believe them all," Thranduil said pensively.

I nodded. I had apparently given him the right answer, because Thranduil proceeded to do nothing to me that remotely resembled a modification on maiming.

"Here's another question," said Thranduil. "Do you believe Legolas is mad?"

"No!" I cried, thankful the right answer was so obvious this time. "I think he is simply prone to bizarre fantasies. He's not mad at all. Perfectly almost sane."

Thranduil nodded seriously. "Yes," he agreed. "Perfectly almost sane is as much as some of us can reasonably hope for."

To my surprise and relief, Thranduil and I seemed to be getting along quite well, which was much better than I had previously believed reasonable to hope. "Would you like some tea, your majesty?" I asked.

"No, thank you," he said. "I only dropped by for a brief visit. I want to know what sort of book you're planning to write with my son. It's not going to turn him into a laughingstock, is it?"

"I can't predict whether or not a book on alien abduction would turn Legolas into a laughingstock," I said. "People laugh at the strangest things."

"Meaning my son is a strange thing?" asked Thranduil. He smiled as I tried to stammer my way out of his trap. "Don't worry, Erestor, I won't hold you accountable. You seem to be a decent sort of Elf, and I know you would never do anything to make my son look foolish."

"Yes, of course. Thank you, your majesty," I said.

Our meeting ended very soon after that. It seemed Thranduil didn't really care whether or not I believed in alien abductions, he just wanted to know why Legolas was hanging out with me so much. I couldn't explain it, but Thranduil didn't see any sinister forces at work, so he left without further ado.

After he was gone, I sat on my sofa, feeling a bit lightheaded, and then Legolas came into the room, holding a piece of cold toast and looking slightly dazed.

Legolas said, "Glorfindel is dead."

I said, "Glorfindel?"

Legolas nodded.

I said, "Dead?" and Legolas nodded again.

"I heard it on the radio," said Legolas. "He hitched a ride to Osgiliath. He must have meant to stay in a hotel there, because he had booked a room and everything. But he never arrived. They think he must have fallen in the Anduin. One of his shoes washed up, and his briefcase, and it had his clothes and money in it."

I stared at Legolas, and Legolas nibbled on his toast, still looking dazed. Then Legolas said that he would give me some time to myself, and he wandered away.

I felt as devastated as Glorfindel's hotel bedroom. It was hard for me to remember a time when Glorfindel had not been alive and trying to make me dead. Glorfindel had been a part of my life for years. He couldn't just _die_.

Some shared my opinion. For days afterwards, Glorfindel dominated every aspect of the media, as he always had. Most people were quite sure he wasn't dead, because there was no tangible evidence to support his death. He could have easily tossed his shoes and briefcase in the Anduin and then made his getaway.

Other people seemed to feel that there was no way on earth Glorfindel could have disappeared _without_ dying. His face was everywhere. Everyone either wanted to look like him, or to date someone who looked like him. Pull anyone off the street and ask him or her to describe Glorfindel, and he or she would be able to do so in great detail. How can someone so striking simply disappear?

Even those who were almost entirely certain Glorfindel was dead didn't want to say anything like, 'it serves him right', just in case he actually wasn't dead, and was listening to them somehow.

Perhaps I had given Thranduil the wrong answer after all, for a few days later, Legolas explained that he had decided not to co-write a book on alien abduction with me. Legolas had been spending more and more time in the company of Aragorn, but I could not blame him. I wondered if he was being tempted with offers to join the Wise, or if he would stay true to his noble calling, and remain an enemy of the Wise, as his father had. With the Wise supposedly reformed, battle lines were blurry again.

There were a few good pieces of news. In a poll, 34 per cent of the population of Gondor expressed doubt in the existence of balrogs, and 17 per cent stated they did not believe balrogs existed at all. 12 per cent thought all the balrogs had died out, and everyone else quoted Glorfindel and remained steadfast in their belief in the creatures. These statistics were better than I had hoped.

In the end, I packed my bags and moved back to Imladris. My little adventure in the big city was officially over. After spending three years of my life frantically writing books on important topics, I suddenly had nothing to do. I was listless. I was depressed. I spent most of my time in the library, trying to work up the interest to find a book and read it.

Finally I decided to read the latest bestseller, _Paranoia and Confusion: An Analytical Look at Erestor and his Works of Fiction._ I took it back to my room and sat down, prepared to be either greatly entertained or terribly insulted.

Someone knocked on my door.

"Go away. I'm busy," I said, opening to the title page and admiring Glorfindel's choice of font.

The door opened, and a familiar voice said, "Is that any way to treat a longsuffering door-to-door encyclopedia sales-elf?"

Startled, I half- leapt to my feet, but it was already too late. The door-to-door encyclopedia sales-elf stood in the entranceway and smirked down at me, not looking longsuffering at all.

I hastily shoved the book under a sofa cushion.

I gaped at him for a moment, and then stupefied astonishment gave way to something else. "Your hair–!" I exclaimed in disbelief, and collapsed back into the sofa in a paroxysm of laughter.

Glorfindel twiddled several strands of his new hair between his fingers, trying hard not to smile. Eventually he gave up. He grinned, sat down, and winked at me. "Don't hurt yourself," he said. "You can't have laughed this much all year."

"I'm going to be furious later," I warned him.

"I look forward to that," he told me.

I don't think I would have recognized him if I hadn't been worrying about his killing me for three whole years. In my more paranoid days, I had seen him everywhere, so I saw him now, underneath his impressive disguise. The most obvious change was his hair, now long and dyed black. He had braided it in more traditional styles, and, most surprisingly, relieved the somber black coloring with streaks of purple. Glorfindel could never be completely traditional.

"Extensions?" I asked eventually, and Glorfindel nodded. "You can't call yourself Glorfindel any more," I observed, "since that means 'golden-haired', and golden-haired is something you are not, at the moment."

Glorfindel shrugged, insouciant. "It's a popular name," he said. "I tell people that my parents called me Glorfindel as a joke."

He had transformed himself in other ways. He had a fake tan, and his clothes were shabbier. He'd done other things too, more subtle things. He held himself differently, as though he were trying to blend in with my wallpaper. His smile was tentative, his gestures nervous, and his expression carefully neutral. As he talked, I watched him with fascination, until, in an unexpected epiphany, I realized who he was acting like.

I threw a pillow at his head. He caught it.

So he wasn't behaving _entirely _like me, then.

"How dare you!" I cried. "How dare you pretend to die, and then come back like this!"

"Like what?" asked Glorfindel, eyes big and innocent.

"Like me!" I yelled. "Except with purple hair!" I hurled another pillow in his direction.

"You must admit," said Glorfindel, catching the second pillow, "I am very good at acting like you. As for faking my own death, well, that's a specialty of mine."

I stopped throwing pillows for a moment. "Are you saying," I asked, with sudden cunning, "that you have faked your own death on an another occasion?"

"Of course not," replied Glorfindel lightly. "And even if I did say that, you would never believe me, would you? You don't believe anything I say."

This was true.

"Anyway," said Glorfindel, "I am not acting exactly like you. I am being a variation on you. I defy categorization!"

"I could categorize you as a fashion victim," I said snidely.

Glorfindel grinned again. I think he likes to bring out the nastier side of me. "I have three new ear piercings, and purple hair, and a tattoo, and you have none of those things," he said. "At least, I don't think you have. Have you?"

I shook my head.

"So," said Glorfindel with finality. His point made, he reverted back to acting like me, which involved twitching nervously and avoiding eye contact. I felt as though I were being deftly insulted, probably as punishment for my 'fashion victim' comment.

"Glorfindel," I said, "what are you doing here? Did you come to kill me?"

Glorfindel shook his head, looking slightly shocked. I was beginning to see why I had annoyed him so much. "I am not a kinslayer," he said, "and I intend to stay that way. No, I came to ask for your help."

If he could act like me, then_ I_ could act like _him_. I had, I realized, been acting like him for some time anyway. I crossed my arms and said coolly, "Oh? I thought you wanted to get revenge on everyone, myself included. Why should I suddenly help you?"

"Because you're a nice person?"

"Bad reason."

"Because _I'm _a nice person?"

I snorted incredulously.

Glorfindel drew himself up in his chair, a gleam in his eye. He leaned forward and said softly, "Because you're bored?"

I bit my lip, and then saw how Glorfindel studied me intently. I could practically _see _him mentally recording and filing the gesture for later use. I stopped biting my lip and scowled at him. I did want something to do. Helping Glorfindel would alleviate the boredom I felt.

"What sort of help do you want?" I asked.

He smiled a brief, triumphant smile. "As you must know, I am no longer one of the Wise. Lady Arwen successfully categorized me as a superficial, clueless plagiarist. I have only myself to blame, since I made categorizing me so easy for her. Now she claims that she is ridding the Wise of corruption. She can't be trusted, of course."

"Of course," I said. I too had learned this firsthand. Now I did not dare trust anyone.

"I intend to keep my eye on the Wise," said Glorfindel. "I confess, I had grown tired of all the scheming involved in remaining a member, and I'm happy enough to be out of it."

I did not quite believe him.

"Now I have the opportunity to observe the Wise from the outside," continued Glorfindel. "I no longer have the obligation to keep their secrets, and I can leak information to the press if I feel it is necessary. In that way, I can keep the Wise in check."

"If you have no obligation to keep their secrets, then will you tell me whether or not there are balrogs?"

"Of course there are balrogs," said Glorfindel. "Please stop fixating on them."

"And in what way do you want me to help you?" I asked him darkly.

"I have heard," said Glorfindel slowly, "that you were invited to join the Wise."

My eyes opened wide. "Oh, no," I said, shaking my head. "I've already refused. I'm not becoming one of the Wise just so I can sneak information to you."

Glorfindel sighed. "Very well," he said. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected any acts of selflessness or bravery from you. You've been a coward for so long, after all..."

I smiled at him, my Glorfindel smile. "Manipulation will not get you anywhere," I said.

"No?" said Glorfindel sadly. "What about brute force?" he asked, enlivened as though the thought had just occurred to him.

'I thought you said you wouldn't kill me."

He rolled his eyes. "If I killed you, you wouldn't be much help to me, would you, Erestor?" And then, just as I was about to apologize for being so silly, he attacked me.

My self-defense classes came in useful at that point. I don't think he was expecting much resistance. I latched onto his arm and attempted to dislocate it, and Glorfindel couldn't strangle me with one hand, so he had to rethink his strategy. He hit my head against the wall. I tried to rip out his hair extensions.

The rioting anarchists could have learned so much from us both.

Eventually, and inevitably, Glorfindel got the upper hand. He grabbed a pillow, which is apparently his weapon of choice, and held it over my face until I was half-asphyxiated. When he took the pillow away, I lay there and gasped for a few minutes. Glorfindel watched, and I began to wonder if he was storing more information away, just in case he ever got suffocated and had to act like me.

"This has hurt me more than it hurt you," said Glorfindel whimsically, smoothing the pillow. I was holding a handful of his dark hair, so I hoped his words were true. "Now, will you help me?"

"No, I won't help you," I said. I had wanted to say something bold and defiant, but my voice seemed very small and defeated."I don't want to be a spy."

The door burst open. For the second time that afternoon, I wished I had thought to lock it. But _no_, I had assumed Rivendell was _safe_. Do I never learn my lesson? What's the point of my being cynical and suspicious if I never think to do something simple and clever like, just for example, lock my door?

Elrohir said, "I _knew _he would be here!"

To almost everyone's surprise, Glorfindel offered no resistance to the sons of Elrond. He said, "I don't mean any harm," and contrived to look sincere.

"He means a lot of harm!" I stumbled to my feet and leaned dizzily against a wall, trying not to act as confused and disoriented as I felt. I needed to make sense of things, and quickly, or else I was going to lose my temper and probably do something stupid. "Lords," I said to the twins, "he's acting like me. Please make him stop. It's driving me crazy."

Glorfindel got up and sat on my sofa, cool as you please. After looking long at each other, Elladan and Elrohir sat on either side of him, not touching him. While Glorfindel lolled indolently, the twins were stiff and tense, and I could see they were ready to pounce, should Glorfindel make a sudden move.

"This is a face we have not previously seen you wear," said Elladan calmly.

"You said you would work for us."

"So why are you attacking Erestor?"

"It is not in any of our interests to cause him harm."

I was very glad to hear this.

"I wanted to see if I could persuade Erestor to infiltrate the Wise," Glorfindel explained. "I did nothing that would inflict permanent damage."

As one, Elladan and Elrohir turned to look at me, presumably to see if I had suffered any permanent damage. I scowled at them. If Glorfindel was working for them, then I did not trust them either, and I wished they would just leave.

"It was a good idea," said Elrohir, turning back to Glorfindel.

"But obviously Erestor does not wish to join the Wise."

"We should not force him to do something he does not want to do."

Elladan and Elrohir broke off and looked at each other thoughtfully.

"It _was _a good idea," said Elladan.

"It _would _work," said Elrohir.

Simultaneously serene and diabolical, Glorfindel smiled at me over their heads. I glared at him, edging towards the door.

"Erestor," said the twins in unison. I froze.

"You would make a wonderful spy. You could support your cause and fight against the Wise," said Elladan. "You would receive all the benefits of Wisdom, and, at the same time, receive the many benefits of working with Elrohir and I."

"We would make the job very worth your while," said Elrohir pleasantly.

Legolas's moral support at this point would have been nice, but I did well enough without it.

"While I very much appreciate your methods of persuasion, especially compared to those of Glorfindel, I must refuse your offer," I said. "I must also ask you to leave. This is, after all, my home, and you are intruding on my reading time."

"Very well," said Elladan. "We'll leave it at that. If you should change your mind, please contact us."

"I have a word of advice," I said, "to demonstrate my lack of ill will toward you."

"And this advice is..?"

"Glorfindel is not really minion material," I said. "You should never, ever trust him, no matter what he says or does. When he's around, you should never cease to watch your backs. And, if possible, you should keep him locked in your basement when you aren't using him, or else I suspect you'll find that _he's_ using _you_."

As I said this, I watched all three Elves, and was glad to see that Elladan and Elrohir took my words to heart. Yes, they were going to watch him very closely. Glorfindel wouldn't like that. He wouldn't enjoy having a discerning audience.

"Thank you," said Elladan.

"We'll be careful," said Elrohir.

They stood to leave. Glorfindel went with them, looking unconcerned, which could only be expected. Glorfindel, as I have said, never, ever despairs utterly. That's what makes him so dangerous.

As he walked past me, he leaned close, whispered in my ear, "You are as perceptive as always, Erestor."

It might have been a compliment, and, knowing Glorfindel, it was probably an insult and threat as well. His threats did not terrify me as they once had. After all, he had attacked me with a pillow -- not once, but twice.

Smiling, I stood on tiptoe with my own mouth close to his ear, and smiling, I gifted him with a few barbed words of my own.

"_I am the greatest of balrog slayers, Glorfindel,_" I murmured.

His eyes narrowed, and his hands clenched, but Glorfindel did not quite lose his composure. "Enjoy your book," he said, and exited the room, Elladan and Elrohir escorting him away.

Feeling both triumphant and shaken, I went back to the sofa, and saw that _Paranoia and Confusion _had been pulled out from underneath the cushion, which meant that Glorfindel was well aware of my intended reading material. I didn't care. I hoped that if Elladan and Elrohir took me literally, and actually did lock Glorfindel in their basement, they would provide him _Wyze Lies_, just to keep him entertained.

I sat down. I opened the book and turned the soft pages to the first chapter. I knew I was not the bravest or most dashing of Elves. I knew I had made mistakes. I knew I had so often backed down when challenged in my opinions. I knew all this, and I knew I was different now. Not totally different, but different enough to face uncrushed the lies Glorfindel had concocted to attack me.

I had achieved a lasting victory over the myths promoted widely and wildly for hundreds of years. I had stood up to Glorfindel. (_And lived_.) Because of me, balrogs would soon become entirely extinct.

'Erestor, Balrog-Slayer,' I thought, smiling again.

I began to read.

**Finis.**


End file.
